revelations (come to us in recovery)
by DaughterOfPoseidon333
Summary: They'd both made some mistakes, but they had a habit of finding each other. This time, they both choose to stay. A Post-Civil War, Pre-IW, Post-IW fic.
1. Chapter 1

**I've got a few notes, so bear with me!**

**I realized recently that I haven't posted anything in over a year, which is probably ok, because it's been a rough one. Won't go into too many details, but I'm back! **

**Fun story, I started writing a post-cw fic in May of 2016. Literally, like a week or two after seeing the movie. I am posting it now, 6 days before Endgame, which is the funniest fucking thing I've ever done. But it's here! I finished it finally! **

**A few notes on the fic itself:**

**-MCU timeline is all goofed up and difficult to work with. I tried. (more at the end on this)**

**-I started writing the post-cw part of this fic years ago now, and I don't love it as much as I did then mostly because I don't love CW that much. It's had time to sit and stew in my brain, and now I am bitter. #wherethefuckismythirdcapmovie**

**-Steve is also very much guilt-ridden (and maybe a little ooc?) at the beginning, but marvel won't address his ptsd, so I will!**

**-AoU fucked with so many things, including Steve and Tony's friendship (ie, the fact that according to AoU they don't have one!), so there's that. Just FYI, Steve is my fave, but I also love Tony, and I understand both of their stances in CW, so I tried to reflect that here.**

**-Wanda is Jewish. Marvel, make her Jewish, you cowards.**

**-You can pry "Steve and Nat have been sharing a bed (platonically) for years because nightmares and sense of security" from my cold dead hands**

**-Steve and Natasha are idiots. I tried going for slow burn, but honestly they're just being dumb, and as the person who wrote them like this, sorry. **

**That's all! Chapters should all be posted by the time Endgame is out in theaters. Even though I haven't posted in a long time, I appreciate all the support you guys have given me. I hope the wait for this one was worth it! Even if you guys didn't know you were waiting for it :)**

**As per usual, title taken from a Sleeping at Last song! Song is 'Homesick' (also used this one for the title of my post-AoU fic, which this fic can be seen as a loose companion to).**

**Enjoy! **

**-:-**

_May 2016_

_She's gone. In her sleep._

Steve wasn't wholly surprised when he got the text. He'd visited Peggy enough over the four years that he'd been out of the ice to know that her health was slowly but surely deteriorating. He didn't regret a second of the extra time he'd gotten with her, especially when he didn't think he'd get any in the first place. And Peggy, she'd lived a long, happy life. She had children, and grandchildren, and people who loved her and he couldn't ask for more.

But it hurt.

And the timing—_Jesus, _the timing couldn't have been worse. He had to excuse himself from the rest of the group. Knowing she was gone…It felt like his ribcage was compressing around his lungs. He hadn't had an asthma attack since before the serum, but he could feel the ghost of one now. He knew Natasha and Sam were watching him as he left, knew the others were questioning where he was going at a time like this. But he couldn't—he couldn't fall apart in front of them all, not now, not when they were already arguing over the Accords.

He made it all the way to the nearest stairwell before leaning against the rail and putting his head down, trying to keep the burning in his eyes from turning into full-fledged tears. Any connections to his past, to the time period he'd been born in, grew up in, had already been thin, and this left him clinging to his past by a thread. He had Bucky, and that was it. And Bucky was still missing.

The realization that he would probably outlive all his new friends struck him deep in the chest, causing panic to rise in his throat. He leaned more heavily against the railing. Erskine and his research had died before they could find out the full effects of the serum, so Steve had no idea how long he would live. Unless he was gunned down, his cells would probably continue to regenerate until everyone around him was dead from this time too, and he would be alone.

The weight of that knocked the breath out of him some days. Even without the serum, World War II veterans were hard to come by these days, too. For everyone else the war ended seventy years ago. For him, it hadn't even been five. He would slip sometimes and ask someone where the nearest payphone was, before remembering he had his own device tucked into the pocket of his jeans. When he was still in New York, his body would forget, and he would turn down a street that he used to know, to find half the buildings remodeled with unfamiliar store fronts. He would still grab a newspaper, expecting to see headlines about the war, blinking at the words until he remembered.

The war was over for the rest of the world, but he had died before he saw the end of it and had never really gotten closure. And now, he had become part of a dying breed.

He tried going to the VA. Sometimes listening in helped. And other days, when he scanned the faces sitting there, he wouldn't find one among the crowd that was old enough to have fought in the war. Sometimes veterans who didn't recognize him would ask where in Afghanistan or Iraq he'd fought. Just another reminder that he was one of the few left, and he didn't even look the part.

Today was more of a reminder than most, the hundred years he'd been alive slowly crushing him under the pressure, his shoulders barely enough to hold the weight. People wouldn't know just by looking at him, but some days…Steve wished he'd died in the sea with the _Valkyrie_.

Taking a breath to steady himself, he pushed off the handrail and headed to the part of the facility where their quarters were. He went to his room and, silently as he could, shut the door behind him. Sitting on the edge of the bed, his eyes landed instantly on his nightstand where his compass sat. He'd leaned over and gingerly picked it up, turning it over in his hands before relenting and opening it up. The worn and faded photo of Peggy was stuck in the lid where he'd put it 70 years ago. His chin trembled and this time he didn't try to stop them as the tears slipped silently down his cheeks.

A gaping hole opened up in his chest. It felt the way it did after Bucky had fallen off the train and he'd tried to drink his sorrows away in the blackened shell of a bar. Except this time Peggy wasn't there to guide him, to sit with him quietly until his tears dried away. He could still see her smile, hear her laugh, could still feel that one press of her lips against his right before he boarded the _Valkyrie. _He could still hear her voice over the radio, promising him that she would teach him how to dance. The thought had warmed his heart even as cold air had poured in from the shattered hole in the windshield of the plane, even as he dipped the nose of the plane down, nothing but endless sky and ice in front of him.

_We'll have the band play something slow. I'd hate to step on your— _

The look on her face when he first went to go visit her was something he would never forget. He'd been thrilled to find out she was alive. Everything about 2012 still confused and frustrated him, so knowing that there was someone out there that could understand him, that _knew him_…it made all the difference. Even if he was nervous and a little terrified to go see her. He'd been informed of her dementia and waited until one of her nurses contacted him telling him that it was a good day before he went and visited.

Her expression had been indescribable. The pure, unadulterated joy in her eyes reflected the feelings swelling in his chest. Wrinkles lined her eyes and her mouth, her hair was a little longer, gray and white, but it was still Peggy. _It was Peggy_. He'd nearly broken down then and there, especially when he caught the layers of sadness and grief and pity beneath her happiness. She'd cried for him—happy tears and sad tears and every kind in between. And when he leaned over the bed to hug her, he found that she still smelled the same, even after all these years.

They'd talked for a long time. And then her dementia had caused her to slip, and he wasn't used to it, so it caught him by surprise. When she looked at him again, sorrow lined her face. _Steve_, she'd said, and he knew by the way she looked at him that she thought she was dreaming. _Oh, Steve. I'm so sorry. But I'll meet you there. I'll meet you there at the club, and we can be happy._

The nurses took over soon enough and Peggy's head nurse, a woman with kind eyes named Tabitha, told him that it would take a few more times, but she would come to recognize and remember him, remember that he was alive. He'd nodded along when she told him this, but he was still too stunned to process properly. He felt like he was dreaming, too. That maybe he was still sinking into the Arctic Sea and this was all some figment of his imagination. But the hole in his chest felt too big, too dark for it to be made up.

_The war's over, Steve. We can go home. Imagine it._

It was that same hole that filled his chest now, that threatened to suck him in and never let go. He sat on his bed for what felt like hours, until his tears dried and he was left with the compass squeezed in his hand. He was a little surprised that no one had come to find him yet. After all, he was the leader of the Avengers and they had a pretty important decision to make in the next three days about signing the Accords.

Setting the compass back on his nightstand he checked his email and saw he had one from one of Peggy's grandchildren, who was helping with arrangements, asking him to be one of the pall bearers at the funeral. The funeral—it was in three days. The same day his decision on the Accords was due.

_Fuck, _he thought. Yeah, pretty much the worst timing in the world. Somewhere, the universe had to be laughing at him.

He had just finished hitting send on his reply email, accepting the request, when there was a knock on his door.

He cleared his throat, "Yeah, come in."

He twisted, looking over his shoulder to see Natasha open the door and shut it quietly behind her.

Steve shifted his gaze to the floor. "How is everybody?"

Natasha's footsteps were nearly silent as she came over and sat next to him on the bed. She was an inch away from him, shoulder close to brushing against his. He could feel her eyes on him. "Tense," she said finally, and he could hear the wry smile in her voice, could tell she was trying to lighten the mood. "And wondering where you disappeared off to."

"I just needed a minute."

There was a beat of silence, and then she said, "Peggy?"

Steve looked up at her. Natasha's eyes were on the compass sitting by his bed. Her eyes flicked to his, and he nodded slowly. "Yeah. She's…" He cleared his throat. "She's gone."

A crease formed between her brows and she reached for his hand. "I'm so sorry, Steve."

He let her hold his hand for another heartbeat, before he pulled away and tucked his hands into his lap. If she was hurt by it, she didn't say anything. He stared at the wall, everything he wanted to say getting stuck in his throat. His team was sitting upstairs, wondering what the hell to do about the Accords. He should've been up there with them, trying to figure it out. But he thought of his compass, thought of what Peggy would say. She would probably tell him that he already knew what his answer was going to be, even if he didn't want to say it out loud.

He exhaled through his nose, turned his head towards Natasha. "The funeral is in three days. In London."

Understanding flickered in her green eyes almost immediately. Her shoulders shifted, dropping just so. He might not have caught it if he didn't know her so well. She licked her lips, and he wondered for a moment if there was a hint of disappointment in her eyes, too. "Same day as the signing of the Accords."

"Yeah." He nodded. "It's in the morning so I might be able to make it to the signing, but…"

He let the sentence hang in the air. _But I already know my answer_. Steve knew that Natasha knew what his answer was. He could feel it in the tension that sat thick and heavy in the inch of space between their bodies.

Now Natasha was staring at the wall, hands clasped together in her lap. Steve thought briefly of the few months after Ultron where he would find her off in her own head, eyes fixated on whatever wall was nearest. They hadn't talked much about Bruce after he left, but he knew in those moments where he'd find her, still as a statue, that Bruce abandoning them, abandoning _her_, hurt worse than she let on.

The last she'd filled him in, she was doing a lot better. Banner had left and that was that. It was time for her to move on. He'd never told her how relieved he'd been when she'd said that.

"In Russia," Natasha finally said, voice soft and carefully controlled, "in the Red Room, where I was trained, there were dozens of us."

Steve stilled, watching her. He knew a little about her past. Mostly what was in her file, but that only touched the surface. He'd been there before when her nightmares woke her in the middle of the night, seen the terror and horror in her eyes before she blinked it away. Both of their nightmares were so bad sometimes that they'd taken to sleeping in the same bed. It wasn't all the time. Enough that Sam and Wanda teased them about it, but Steve didn't care. He knew both of them slept better when they were together. He just tried not to think too hard about how his heart expanded in his chest whenever he woke and found her body tangled together with his.

"All girls, all young," she continued. "We lived together. They let us be friends. Then they dropped us in the tundra, two weeks' walk from home, with just enough supplies for one of us to survive."

Steve's chest tightened. He watched her throat bob as she swallowed. He imagined an adolescent Natasha, red hair bright against white snow, forced to kill other girls her age so she could survive.

Natasha lifted her head to look at him, eyes shining slightly. Then she whispered, "Don't let them push us into the cold."

-:-

Steve wondered if Natasha would ever stop surprising him.

He'd asked Sam to come along with him to Peggy's funeral, but didn't dare ask anyone else. He shouldn't have been too shocked to see Natasha walking up the church aisle towards him, not when he knew that she'd admired Peggy as a founder of SHIELD, and would no doubt want to honor the woman. But it surprised him nonetheless, because he hadn't asked her to come, hadn't expected to see her there at all, not with the Accords signing looming above their heads.

But seeing her there, donned in black, red hair falling across her shoulders as she assured him, _she had you back, too_…he was more grateful than he had words for. Her presence was a balm—helping to soothe even just one small part of his soul.

"You know, after everything happened with SHIELD," she started to tell him, "during my little hiatus, I went back to Russia to try and find my parents."

Steve felt a small jolt. Natasha had opened up on certain things about her past, but her parents had never been one of them.

She had her arms folded across her torso, and gave a small shake of her head as she continued, "Two little gravestones by a chain-link fence. I pulled some weeds and left some flowers." A small sigh. "We have what we have when we have it."

He was quiet for a moment before asking the question he'd been avoiding, "Who else signed?"

She filled him in quietly on who had decided what, before she said, "I'm off to Vienna for the signing of the accords. There's plenty of room on the jet."

He exhaled softly, swallowing.

Natasha took a step closer. "Just because it's the path of least resistance doesn't mean it's the wrong path. Staying together is more important than how we stay together."

"What are we giving up to do it?"

She didn't respond.

"I'm sorry, Nat." He shook his head. "I can't sign it."

She took a breath. "I know."

He tried not to let his surprise show. "Then what are you doing here?"

"I didn't want you to be alone."

-:-

Standing across from her in the airport hangar, just feet away from the quinjet, was the worst. Seeing her had stopped him in his tracks, heart sinking in his chest. For four years they'd been side by side. It hadn't been perfect at first. He knew that she'd been a little bitter at the beginning, having him replace Clint as her partner, but from the beginning they couldn't deny how well they worked together in the field. Reading each other's signals, fighting styles, the unspoken communication they had came so naturally they might as well have been fighting together their whole lives.

Natasha had been the one to help him out after the Battle of New York to adjust to the 21st century. She made jokes, sure, but if she ever knew he was really struggling, she would bring over take-out and pick a movie for them to watch. They would just sit in silence for the duration of the movie, and almost without fail, by the end of it he would feel better. The first months were rough, but they started to build something genuine. They never put a label on it, but by the time Hydra revealed itself to be SHIELD, when both their worlds came crumbling down around them, it was undeniable that they were friends.

If Steve was being perfectly honest, Natasha was his best friend.

They had their differences, but she was one of the few people he trusted the most. He trusted her with his life, and knew she felt the same. He sometimes thought of that kiss on his cheek she'd given him, how she'd told him to call Sharon, and wondered where things had gotten complicated. Because for a moment, he thought there had been an inkling of something more between them. That realization had surprised him, of course, because since waking from the ice, having a relationship wasn't something he'd thought about often. But that moment in the cemetery, his heart had flipped in his chest in way it hadn't done since 1945.

He thought maybe she'd felt something, too. But she was the one who told him to call Sharon. She was the one who, when they came back together after a year, had started pursuing Banner. It still stung sometimes, even though he knew she was moving on. It twisted something in him, knowing that they'd stood together on the edge of the world and all he'd wanted to do was tell her how he felt. That, whether it was love or something else, she was one of the most important people in his life and the thought of losing her was unfathomable.

Standing across from her in that hangar he thought of that day in Sokovia.

_Where else am I gonna get a view like this?_

The clouds, the endless stretch of sky in front of him, he knew what that was like. It had been his view from the _Valkyrie_. Nothing but sky and sea and ice—

Instead, he looked at her. If he had died on that day, he would've been okay with it having her by his side.

"You're not going to stop," she said, arm raised with her Widow's Bite charged and aimed at his chest.

He released a breath. He could feel Bucky tense beside him. "You know I can't."

"I'm going to regret this," she said softly, half to herself.

_Me too_, he thought. She was the last person he wanted to fight. He hated that she wasn't side by side with him, hated the way his chest tightened seeing her across from him like this. It was the same feeling, the same twisting in his gut and bitter taste in his mouth he'd gotten when they'd all been sitting around on the couches—_god_, only five days ago now—and she'd sided with Tony about the Accords.

But then she fired her bracelet and Steve heard a grunt from behind him. He twisted to see T'Challa stumble mid-stride as the electric charge crackled against his suit.

Steve looked back at Natasha.

"_Go_," she said, nearly pleaded.

He wished they had more time. But all he could do was nod, hoping it was thank you enough for now.

Steve turned with Bucky and ran, resisting the urge to look back.

-:-

"What's going to happen to your friends?"

Steve stared out the front of the quinjet, startled for a moment by Bucky's question. It's not like he hadn't been thinking about it. In fact, it was all he'd been thinking about since they escaped from the airport. He thought of Natasha, holding off the King of Wakanda for them. He thought of Sam and Wanda, Clint and Scott, who would probably all be imprisoned because he left them there. _He just left them there_. He hated it, hated himself for abandoning them like that, even though he knew what could happen, even though they knew the same.

He sighed, blinking. "Whatever it is," he said, "I'll deal with it."

Just like he dealt with everything else. He'd figure a way out of this. They were his friends, and he'd gotten them all into this mess. It was his job to get them out of it.

Bucky was quiet for a moment. Then, "I don't know if I'm worth all this, Steve."

Steve's heart grew heavier in his chest. He turned his head, so Bucky could hear him better over the hum of the quinjet's engines. "What you did all those years, it wasn't you. You didn't have a choice."

"I know," Bucky replied. Then he paused. "But I did it."

Steve frowned, turning back to the controls. He was grateful to have something to do with his hands, because he'd never felt more helpless. He couldn't help the others at the airport and Bucky…he'd failed Bucky a long time ago when he couldn't reach his friend on the side of that train.

Maybe none of this would've happened if he'd just acted a little faster, if he'd just reached his hand a little farther. It wasn't the first time he'd thought that. He thought about it all the time, in fact. How, if Bucky hadn't fallen, maybe he wouldn't have crashed the _Valkyrie _into the ice. He'd never admitted it out loud to anyone, but those six weeks between Bucky's fall and the plane crash had been the worst weeks of his life. Getting up every day, simply _living _had been harder because his best friend wasn't by his side. And maybe the tiniest part of him had wanted to crash that plane. As terrified as he'd been when the controls got stuck on autopilot, when he'd realized that there was nowhere to go but down…there was some relief in it, too. Some relief in knowing that he and Bucky would be together in death.

He could still feel the frigid wind rushing in through the broken windshield, could still feel the drop in his stomach as he angled the plane down. Could still feel his compass pressed against his heart when he'd tucked it back into his uniform, Peggy's voice promising him that dance. He could also remember hearing Bucky's dying scream, could remember seeing his best friend fall farther and farther out of reach until he disappeared into the snowy landscape.

When he drowned, when the water slipped over him and carried him down, Steve remembered thinking it was appropriate that they both died in the cold.

-:-

Of all the things he'd seen in the past few days, Steve was pretty sure the betrayal in Tony's eyes was the worst.

"Did you know?"

Steve wanted to say no. And it was partly true. He hadn't known what Bucky had done. But he'd guessed. He'd known that Hydra had Howard and Maria killed, so it wasn't a difficult leap to make in thinking that Bucky had been the one sent in to do the job. _No_, not Bucky. The Winter Soldier.

"I didn't know it was him." The words tasted bitter rolling off his tongue.

"Don't _bullshit _me, Rogers. Did you _know_?"

He swallowed, eyes scanning Tony's face. He looked so much like Howard. Steve distinctly recalled the first time he saw Tony, because it had been like seeing a ghost. "Yes," he said, watching Tony immediately stumble back a step. _Too late_…too late now to take it back.

Then they were fighting, and it was mostly a blur, because Steve was trying to protect Bucky, but also trying not to hurt Tony, and he hated that it had come to this.

They fell, and they were near the snow and the cold—_always in the cold_. He didn't want this, he didn't want to fight. If he could just get Bucky out of there—

But then Tony was blasting him hard against the stone wall and the breath was knocked out of him, shield by his side. He didn't want this, _he didn't_—and then he heard the blast, looked up, and saw Bucky stumble, metal arm gone, shoulder still red hot. Tony blasted Bucky to the ground and Steve was on his feet before he could think twice.

He had Tony backed against the wall, vision red around the edges. He couldn't think—he was only action, his body twisting and moving automatically to punch, block, strike. Then Tony stopped the shield in his hand, and after a few blows, Steve was on his knees next to Bucky.

"He's my friend," he said. A short, kind of shitty excuse. But it was all he had. _Bucky _was all he had left of his old life. He'd already failed Bucky once—he couldn't do it again. And he couldn't let Tony kill Bucky when it wasn't really his fault.

"So was I."

Tony punched him again, threw him against the stone columns. Steve coughed.

"Stay down," Tony said. "Final warning."

Steve struggled to his feet, breathing hard. He didn't…he didn't want to fight. But fighting was all he knew, all he'd known for so, _so_ long.

_Captain America, pretending like he can live without a war._

He fought in the war and he'd been fighting ever since he woke up. He didn't know if he knew how to stop.

Pushing himself to his feet, Steve lifted his arms, hands curled into loose fists, blood sticky on the side of his face. "I could do this all day."

Tony lifted his arm, the arc reactor in the palm humming as it charged. Steve was prepared to fight if it kept the attention off Bucky. But then Bucky grabbed Tony's leg, and when Tony kicked at Bucky's face, Steve's vision burned red, anger and a fierce desire to protect Bucky swelling in his chest.

He lunged, picking Tony up and lifting him over his head. He threw the other man to the ground, metal head of the suit clanging against one of the columns. Then Steve was on top of him, throwing punch after punch, not caring that his knuckles were bleeding. All he could see was _red_. All he could feel was white-hot rage boiling in his chest. Tony's facemask fell to pieces, bloody gashes across his face.

Steve barely registered grabbing his shield. He lifted it up, ready to bring it down.

_He was going to kill him_—he could feel it in his chest, right between his ribs, the same anger, the same determination that fueled him against Hydra when Bucky fell from the train. The past three days, all the loss he'd suffered…entire decades weighed down on his shoulders, pressing the shield down. Tony threw his hands up in front of his face, and Steve plunged the edge of the shield into the other man's chest, cutting through metal and shattering the arc reactor.

He was breathing hard. The anger subsided just enough, and he looked down. When he did, his anger disappeared altogether, replaced with an overwhelming shadow of guilt and shame. Tony's eyes were shining, the fear on his face devastating…Steve knew as long as he lived he would never get that image out of his mind.

Steve squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, regret sticking in his throat. He fell off Tony, taking a breath before he struggled to his feet. He pulled the shield from where it was embedded in Tony's suit, and headed over to Bucky, pulling his friend to his feet.

"That shield doesn't belong to you," Tony said, voice sharp. "_You don't deserve it_. My father made that shield."

Steve didn't say anything. He couldn't. Even if he could find the words, or get them past the lump in his throat, there was nothing he could say that would make this better. The shield, which he'd picked up 70 years ago, suddenly weighed a thousand pounds. He let it slowly slip down his arm. Then he dropped it, the metal clanging against the stone ground.

-:-

Natasha stared out the window of the plane, gaze fixed on the endless stretch of sky and clouds. With a bittersweet tinge she thought of the same sky, but standing instead on the edge of Sokovia as it rose higher and higher into the sky. Steve had been at her side then, ready to stay with her until their final breath if need be. The air had been getting thin for her at that point, and she'd been exhausted, but she remembered thinking that with a view like that and Steve by her side, it wasn't such a bad way to go.

She shifted in her seat, wishing it was Steve by her side now, instead of some stranger. A part of her hated that she was on the run again. She'd lost count of many times throughout her life she'd had to run, to drop everything and not look back. But this time was different. Because Steve, and the others, were on the run, too. And she was going to find him. She'd already reached out to a few places and had come up with nothing. She was impressed really, with how quickly and efficiently he'd been able to drop off the map. She smiled a little to herself—she'd taught him well. But at the moment, it was also a little frustrating.

This was her third flight in five days. It had been almost a week since the fight at the airport in Berlin. It felt so long ago already, but Natasha could feel the weight of it settle into her bones. It shouldn't have come to that…and now here she was, brain going in circles trying to put all the pieces together. She was trying to find Steve. The others, including Clint, were locked up in the Raft, and she could still hear Tony's scathing words in her head.

_It must be hard to shake the whole double agent thing, ain't it? Sticks in the DNA. _

Natasha frowned, trying again to get more comfortable in her seat. After that she hadn't stuck around, knowing full-well that General Ross was going to send someone after her sooner rather than later. And it was stupid, really, _really _stupid, but she risked going back to the compound. The wing where the Avengers lived was empty, and eerily quiet. There were still a few dishes around the sink, half-finished books and magazines lying on the coffee table. They had all meant to come back to this, because no one had thought it was going to end the way it did.

She went to her room and grabbed the go-bag she always kept prepared from her closet. She should've left then, but then she went to the next room down, Steve's room. She opened the door and stepped inside. For a moment, she couldn't walk any further.

_You're not going to stop. _

_ You know I can't._

_ God_, did she know. This was _Steve _they were talking about. And she knew him, knew that if she stopped him, he would try to fight, probably. At the very least so Bucky could get away. But she'd also seen the look in his eyes when he saw her, the regret, the defeat that lined his features when he realized she was blocking his getaway.

And maybe Tony was right. Maybe she just couldn't help it. But in that hangar in Berlin, she made her choice.

_I'm going to regret this, _is what she'd told Steve. But she didn't, not for a second. Tony was her friend, but Steve…Well, no matter what she thought about the Accords, she could still see the look on his face when she'd sided with Tony on the matter. Could still feel the ache in her heart when she did so, because after four years, the thought of not standing by his side killed her. She'd been so reluctant to be his partner at first, but she couldn't deny that they worked well together. Beyond that, there was a pull to him. They were different, but maybe not as much as she'd originally thought. He was her best friend. He was…he was maybe something more. So in that moment, she'd let her heart take over her head, and she'd let him go.

Funny, how the situations reversed. Two years ago, she had walked away from him in that cemetery in D.C. She'd thought that had been best, given the hint of that something more that had started blossoming in her chest. And now it was her turn to let him go, not knowing when she was going to see him next.

She briefly thought of Bruce. She didn't regret their time together, no matter how short it had been. After SHIELD fell, she'd been lost. The one place that had truly felt like a home to her and crumbled and slipped between her fingers. She'd thought that Bruce was safe. She could be with somebody who also had a monster inside of them, something dark and twisted. But that was flawed thinking. And deep down she probably knew that at the time, knew it would never work out. The age difference didn't matter to her, but they were on different paths. Still, it had hurt when he'd left, when he'd abandoned them. She'd spent weeks staring at walls, trying to make sense of it all.

Steve had been by her side the whole time.

And when her nightmares got worse, for the first time in a long time, he'd immediately opened his door the first night she'd knocked on it. _Can I stay? _she'd asked him. He didn't say anything, but his features softened, and he moved to one side of the bed, so she could slip under the covers. When her eyes started to sting, and she couldn't help the slight tremble of her lower lip, Steve had pulled her against his chest, whispering soothing words until she fell asleep wrapped in the warmth of his arms.

It was dangerous, probably, given what she started feeling in D.C. But Steve helped her get over Bruce, helped her out of that dark place she'd fallen into after SHIELD fell. The agency had been her home, her family for so long, that she'd forgotten she had Steve. But she'd left. And she probably didn't deserve Steve's forgiveness so quickly, especially since she'd barely even given him a call, but after Ultron, he stood right by her side as he always had. The year they'd spent leading the Avengers had been one of the best years of her life. Between missions, they achieved a level of domesticity that Natasha never thought she'd have.

Then the Accords came along, and everything fell apart.

That pulled her back. She blinked, remembering that she was on a time limit. She grabbed Steve's go-bag from his closet. Natasha had made sure they all had one, and she smiled a little when she opened it up to see it so neatly packed. She grabbed his sketchbook and pencils from inside his nightstand drawer, along with his dog tags and the photos he had from the war. She was about to leave when she caught sight of the compass next to the lamp.

Natasha leaned over and picked it up, slowly opening the lid. A weathered picture of Peggy Carter sat inside. She was beautiful, and Natasha felt the corners of her mouth curve up just so. Ever since Nick brought her to SHIELD and first told her about Peggy Carter, Natasha had admired the other woman. That only grew when Steve talked about her. He didn't do it often, and it was usually during one of those nights where they slept in the same bed, lying next to each other in the dark.

She shut the compass and tucked it into Steve's bag, pulling the zipper closed again. Bags in hand, Natasha had left the compound and drove to the airport, buying a ticket to the first city she could think of.

That had been a few days ago, and now she just exhausted and nowhere close to finding Steve. She laughed a little herself. Damn him for being such a quick learner. She wished she could call him, wished her phone would ring like it did a few days ago after the attack at the conference.

_Are you all right? _he'd asked her. Though she had just seen him in London at Peggy's funeral, hearing his voice had meant everything. But she'd known, because she knew him, that he was going to try and get involved. Her years and years of training had told her there was more behind the attack than appeared on the surface—which turned out to be true when Barnes was framed for the explosion.

She'd begged Steve to stay home. He already hadn't signed the Accords and trying to get involved would just make things worse. Even though, deep down, she knew he couldn't just sit back and do nothing. That wasn't him. Still, she had tried, if only so he wouldn't get. And her heart had sunk when he asked if she would arrest him.

And maybe that was the first sign. It some ways she didn't think it mattered that she'd signed the Accords. She wouldn't turn Steve in. She couldn't. As she proved later by electrocuting the King of Wakanda.

Natasha straightened in the seat of her plane. T'Challa had been in Siberia. She'd seen on the news a few days ago that he'd turned Zemo into the authorities. If she knew Steve at all, he would probably be figuring out how to get the others out of the Raft, meaning he would need resources. The kind of resources that the King of Wakanda seemed to have at his disposal. Natasha didn't know all of what T'Challa was in charge of, but he'd been able to get to Siberia quickly and on his own, so at the very least, he had transportation. That's all Steve would need to get started…

She didn't know if he would be there, but Wakanda was a hell of a place to start. Natasha settled her head against the back of her seat, feeling a little more at ease now that she had something to go on. She knew there was a chance this would lead to nothing, especially since T'Challa might not even allow her to come in the first place, given that she'd electrocuted him. But her heart—which was more attuned to Steve than she sometimes cared to admit—was telling her this was the right place to go.

-:-

_June 2016_

Steve stared out through the bay windows, seeing into the gardens of the Wakandan complex and the jungle beyond. This had become his favorite spot in the building, which sat on the edge of the city and housed guest quarters and some medical and research labs. T'Challa had offered to show Steve around more of the city, but not for a little while yet. Steve knew there was still some trust to be built up, not including the fact that T'Challa had just been crowned king and was often busy attending to his duties.

His spot, which included a small grouping of couches and chairs around a coffee table, situated in the wide hallway outside the labs where Bucky was being kept in cryo, was enough for now.

As Steve looked out over the landscape beyond the building, the words he'd said to Wanda echoed in his head.

_Sometimes we can't save everybody._

It felt like weeks or months ago that he'd told her that. It had been days. And he'd had no idea how right he'd turn out to be.

No, they certainly hadn't been able to save everyone. Not this time around. A part of him thought he should be used to it by now.

He'd fought in the worst war in history, and he could still see the faces of all those fellow soldiers, gunned down, mutilated, missing limbs, bleeding out into the snow with wide eyes…he could still remember their faces, their names. It wasn't any different now. Those people in New York he'd gotten glimpses of, their terrified faces, right before a Chitauri shot them down. All those loyal SHIELD agents, shot and killed by people they'd considered friends. The hundreds of dusty, screaming, bleeding civilians in Sokovia as metal monsters rained down on their city. The same screams that echoed in Lagos just days ago.

Steve's hands shook in his lap as he thought of the look in Tony's eyes as Steve raised his shield above his head—

It was the same look he'd seen echoed so many times in the eyes of all those terrified civilians as they took in the destruction and horror around them. Sometimes it was the look right before they died.

Steve blew out a breath, scrubbing his trembling hands down his face before glancing out the windows again. He picked one tree off in the distance and focused on it. He kept his gaze trained on it, taking in one deep breath after another, willing those thoughts away.

What had happened, it was done and over with. He couldn't change that now. Still, it didn't keep the guilt from eating at him.

He thought briefly of his compass, still sitting on his nightstand back in New York. He hadn't packed it when leaving for the funeral, because he had expected to be back at the facility by now. But he wished he had the compass, wished he could look at Peggy's picture, if only to feel a little less lost.

"Captain Rogers, you have a visitor."

T'Challa's voice pulled him from his thoughts. His brow furrowed as he tried to tamp down on the panic that rattled in his chest. Nobody knew that he was here, so who the hell would be visiting him? He turned as he stood—and froze.

Across the room stood King T'Challa, dressed in a tunic and pants of a fine, deep blue silk, and there at his side—

"_Natasha_."

His voice was barely a breath, but she smiled softly nonetheless. Steve stepped around the couch, dropping the notebook he'd been scribbling notes in onto the cushion as he passed, walking slowly towards her and the king. Since getting back from Siberia, he'd stared at the burner phone he'd gotten for himself, thumb hovering over the button that would dial Natasha's number. But he'd never pressed it. He wasn't an idiot—he knew she would face repercussions for helping him in Berlin. He just didn't expect her to see her standing here in front of him. And that's all he could focus on, the fact that she was really _here_.

Out of the corner of his eye, Steve caught the twitch of T'Challa's mouth, a slight bemused expression on the king's face. He didn't have too long to decipher what that meant before T'Challa dipped his head politely. "I will leave you two to catch up. I have some business to attend to, but ask any of the Dora Milaje and they'll show you to your quarters, Ms. Romanoff."

Natasha turned towards the king briefly, smiling and bowing her head. "Thank you, Your Majesty."

Steve echoed her thanks before T'Challa turned and walked away, a couple of his personal guards following him out. He watched as Natasha set the two duffel bags she had with her on the ground next to her before she looked back at him.

"Hey, soldier," Natasha murmured, lips quirked up, familiar twinkle in her green eyes.

He wasn't sure if it was the sound of her voice, or the barest hint of sadness and exhaustion lining her features that he wouldn't have caught if he didn't know her so well, but he crumbled. For days he'd been left alone with nothing but his thoughts, which had just left him drowning in a tidal wave of guilt and grief. Steve pulled her into his embrace, taking a shaky breath as she lifted her own arms around him in return. She gripped the back of his t-shirt, clinging to him as she tucked her head against his chest. She was trembling as much as he was.

They stood there for a long moment, breathing each other in. When they finally pulled apart, Steve noted the way Natasha's eyes were shining. He blinked, trying to get rid of the slight burn in his own eyes. "How?" he asked. "How'd you find me?"

There were a million other questions he had—namely, _what are you doing here? _and _why did you let me go?_

_I'm going to regret this_, is what she'd told him in that hangar. He wanted to know if that was true. He wanted to know if she would look at him the same, if she would regret it when she found out that he'd nearly killed their friend.

Natasha gave him a crooked smile. "I'll admit, this wasn't my first stop. You've gotten a lot better at covering your tracks." Her smile grew a little proud. "But I'm still a spy."

He tried to laugh, but it got trapped in his chest. Instead, it was another question that came out when he opened his mouth, "Are you here to turn me in?"

He had to ask it—had to be sure, even though the question tasted bitter on his tongue. She'd let him go in Berlin, and he trusted her perhaps more than he trusted anybody. But she'd initially sided with Tony about the Accords, and he had to be positive about her intentions. He still needed time to get the others out of the Raft, and the half-formed plan in his head didn't accommodate him getting caught too.

But Natasha's eyes widened just so, and she gave one shake of her head. "No, Steve," she said softly. She cleared her throat and shrugged one shoulder. "I let you go. I'm not exactly on General Ross' good side. You're stuck with me, soldier."

They were a foot apart. Natasha was looking at him fondly, and Steve felt relief bubble in his chest as a smile spread slowly across his cheeks.

He thought of the cemetery, two years ago. She'd had a similar look on her face them, speaking to him in that silent way that he'd finally started to learn how to read. Then she'd leaned up, pressed that lingering kiss to his cheek. He'd felt it for months after it happened, whenever he thought of her, missed her. Which was more often than he'd ever admitted to her or anyone else.

She'd told him to call Sharon, and he'd thought about it. Sometimes he would pick up the phone and stare at her number. Sharon was nice. She was smart and tough and since she was an agent too, he wouldn't have to hide that part of his identity from her. But he never called, using the search for Bucky as an excuse.

And then Ultron happened. The image of Bruce and Natasha together at the bar was still burned in his mind, the sour taste still lingering in his mouth.

_As maybe the world's leading authority in waiting too long, don't._

He'd wanted to be happy for Natasha—and for the most part he was. He'd told himself that if Bruce was what she wanted…he would support her. Which is why he'd told Bruce to go for it. Too late, Steve had realized that Natasha meant more to him than just a friend. At that time, he still hadn't put a label on it. Even now, he still didn't know what to call it, but he knew there were more intense feelings there.

Then a year ago, after Ultron had been defeated and things fell into a daily, somewhat normal routine, he'd looked at Sharon's number in his phone again. One night when he couldn't sleep, he'd shot her a text. It was simple, just a hello and checking in to see how she was doing at her new job in the CIA. They'd texted and called back and forth for a while. They'd never gone on an actual date, since she was based down in D.C. and couldn't make it to upstate New York very often, but Steve found that he really liked her. She was easy to talk to. And as Natasha recovered from Bruce leaving so abruptly and without a goodbye, Steve grew closer to Sharon.

He knew his timing couldn't have been worse when he kissed her, but everything had been falling apart around him and he wanted to see what it would lead to. He and Natasha had grown closer together over the year again, after their separation the year before, but he didn't know what to do about his feelings for her—if he still had feelings for her. Because he really did like Sharon and having her there backing him up had felt good, so on an impulse, he'd kissed her. It was sweet and nice and not much more. He liked her—but kissing her, he realized that it didn't feel the same, hadn't sent his heart beating wildly the way he wanted.

A few days ago, he'd called Sharon to tell her that he appreciated all that she'd done for him, and that she deserved better. She deserved someone who, first of all, wasn't a fugitive, and second, felt wholly passionate for her. That wasn't him. And because she was a good person and a good friend, she'd taken it amazingly, with a sense of knowing in her voice as she told him that she understood, and that she wished him the best, wherever he was.

Steve realized that Natasha still didn't know about any of this, and he frowned a little at the thought. He briefly wondered if she would feel the same way he'd felt when he found out about her and Bruce.

"Steve?"

He blinked, focusing on Natasha, still standing in front of him. Her green eyes scanned his face.

"You good?" she asked. "You zoned out there for a minute."

He nodded. "Yeah, I'm good. Just…thinking."

She studied him for a moment longer. "How are you doing?"

"I'm fine, Nat."

She raised an eyebrow, crossing her arms over her chest. "Well, that's a load of bullshit." He opened his mouth to protest, but she beat him to it, raising a hand, "You don't have to talk to me right now. But I know you. I can tell something is bothering you. You also look like shit, so there's that,"

"Could've used a little more warning if you were just going to come here and insult me," he muttered.

She gave him a knowing, stubborn look. "What I'm trying to say is that I'm here if you need me."

He swallowed. He could feel all his worries and self-deprecating thoughts pulsing at the back of his mind, but those words soothed something in his chest that had been wound too tightly since the events in Lagos. It had felt like one blow after another for weeks, but for a moment, he felt himself relax a little, more grateful than he could express that she was by his side again. "Thank you," he whispered, reaching for one of her hands. The pressure of her fingers in between his felt completely and utterly _right_. His heart ached from everything that had happened recently, but that didn't stop it from beating steadily in his chest when she looked up at him and offered the tiniest of smiles.

-:-

"All right, I gotta know, how'd you do it?"

Natasha gave a little laugh, glancing up at Steve. They were walking in the gardens outside the guest apartment building. The building itself also contained medical labs, which, as Steve had informed her, was where Bucky currently was, having made the choice to put himself back in cryo until Wakanda's doctors and scientists—led by T'Challa's sister, Shuri—could figure out how to remove the Hydra brain-washing from his head. The gardens surrounding the building were beautiful, full of vibrant flowers and towering trees, the paths made of paved pale stone. The sounds of the high-tech city were a hum in the distance.

After days of travel, Natasha finally felt like she could breathe a little easier. "How'd I do what?"

Steve gave her a look, grinning. "Convince T'Challa to let you come here after you electrocuted him."

Natasha smiled broadly back at him. "My natural charms, of course."

He chuckled as they followed a curve in the path, heading into a denser part of the garden. Natasha knew there were guards—the highly skilled Dora Milaje—around somewhere, monitoring the two of them, but for the moment, it felt like they were alone.

"Seriously, how'd you convince him?"

Natasha sighed through her nose, flicking her eyes up to him briefly. "It might have involved a little bit of begging," she admitted. "I had to convince him that I wasn't here to spill his secrets or turn you in. That I was really just here for you." She swallowed, that confession making her stare at the path ahead of them and not daring to look at Steve, though she could feel him shift beside her. "I think after seeing what I did for you in Berlin he believed me. I also didn't plan on giving up until he at least told me if you were here or not. Though, it took a few days. There was some time last week when all I got was radio silence when I tried contacting the number Sharon pulled for me."

"Yeah, just a few days after I got here, they had me moved to a different building on the very edge of the city," Steve said, brow furrowing the slightest. "At first it was just because T'Challa was being crowned king and as a guest and an outsider, they didn't want me stepping in on tradition, understandably. Then two days later, Shuri, his sister, found me. I could tell something was wrong, but she didn't explain. She just said that I had to stay where I was, and that I wasn't to leave because another outsider had come into the city.

"Shuri said that this guy would kill me if he found out that I was here. Luckily, the circle of people that knew I was in the city in the first place was a pretty small number, so, I stayed put."

"Well, now that doesn't sound like you at all," Natasha teased.

Steve scoffed, humored. "Anyway, I saw smoke across the city, over where by Shuri's main labs are, but I don't know what actually happened. T'Challa came by just a few days ago to retrieve me and move me back to this guest building."

Natasha's curiosity was piqued. That explained why she hadn't heard from anyone a few days ago. And though her spy training was begging her to dig, to find out what had happened, she shoved it away. They were guests here. The king didn't have to let her here in the first place, and she didn't plan on screwing it up by letting her curiosity get the best of her.

"But you're here," Steve said after her moment of silence. When she turned her head up, she found him looking at her with relief and something akin to adoration in his eyes. Her pulse jumped, thinking about how close he was.

"I'm here," she agreed.

Their pace had slowed a little, and Steve ducked his head down to stare at the path. "I missed you."

"It's barely been over a week since you last saw me," she teased. But she understood. She'd missed him too. After spending pretty much all of their time together, whether it was at the Avengers facility upstate or on missions, to go from all to nothing was an abrupt change. Even when they lead separate missions, it would be for a week at most and they always kept in contact. Over the past year, Natasha had only worked one deep-cover mission, and it only lasted two weeks. She checked in almost everyday with Steve and Hill back at headquarters because they were running her op from there. But this, the past week and a half had been nothing but deafening silence. For a majority of that time, she'd had no idea where Steve was, and she'd had no way to get a hold of him.

It probably should've been a sign—definitely _was _a sign—but like all of her other feelings for Steve Rogers, she shoved it down to be dealt with at a later time. For right now, the simple fact that she wasn't on the run alone this time was enough.

-:-

Steve startled as he woke, sucking in a sharp breath. He blinked, sitting upright, trying to banish the last vestiges of his dream. It was the same dream he'd been having for almost two weeks now—his hands, raising his shield over his head and bringing it down on Tony. Except when he looked, Tony wasn't just injured, but dead. Night after night he woke with shaking hands, seeing over and over the same terrified look in Tony's eyes right before he killed him.

Sometimes it was just that singular nightmare he remembered before waking. Other times, he would get caught in a cycle of different ones, until he finally managed to pull himself back into consciousness.

After a moment of trying to steady his breathing, he swung his legs over the edge of the bed, rubbing his hands down his face. Slowly, he stood and walked to the large bathroom attached to the room T'Challa had granted him in the guest apartments on the edge of the city. The lights turned on automatically as he padded barefoot into the bathroom and approached the black marble sink, gripping the edge in an effort to regain some control of his racing heart.

Looking into the mirror, he studied his face. He had dark circles under his eyes from his lack of sleep the last couple weeks. In the week since the fight in Siberia, his wounds had pretty much completely healed. He could only see the faintest white lines where the gashes on his face had been. In another day or two, those would probably vanish too, the wounds not serious enough to warrant permanent marks on his body, which were numbered few to begin with, thanks to the healing effects of the serum.

He turned on the faucet, cupping cold water in his palms before splashing it over his face. He did it a few more times, rubbing the back of his neck and running damp hands over his hair. Stubble lined his jaw; he would need to shave again in the morning. Part of him considered just growing it out, but he wasn't so sure yet.

As he wandered back into his spacious room, he thought about going to see Natasha. She was in a room just two doors down from his, but glancing at the clock on the wall, he knew she would be asleep, given that it was nearing four in the morning.

But he couldn't go back to sleep. He didn't want the nightmares to come back, didn't want to see himself raising that shield up again, didn't want to feel water rushing into his lungs as he drowned, or hear the screams and feel the cold, bitter wind as Bucky fell. He looked at the nightstand, to where he'd set his compass after Natasha had pulled it from the duffle she'd grabbed for him. He hadn't been able to say anything when he'd seen it—just given her a grateful smile for picking it up for him. He'd hated not having it with him.

He stared at it a moment longer, wishing he had Peggy there to give him some advice. She'd always known exactly what to say to him, and he was still floundering aimlessly after her death. He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, took a breath. He moved over next to the bed, grabbing a t-shirt off the top of his bag and pulling it over his head before he grabbed a pen and his notepad, flipping to the plans he's started making. No, he wouldn't be able to go back to sleep, but getting his friends out of the Raft would make him feel less helpless.

-:-

Steve was sitting at his usual spot outside of the medical labs, holding his sketchbook in his lap as he stared out the bay windows into the jungle beyond. There were so many beautiful things in Wakanda that he wanted to draw, the huge black stone panther standing guard over the city being one of them. But he'd been sitting there for over an hour with nothing but a blank page in front of him. He just couldn't bring himself to pick up the pencil.

Sighing through his nose, he shut his sketchpad, tossing it lightly down on the coffee table in front of him. He ran a hand over his hair, about to get up and wander through the building, when Natasha appeared in front of him.

"I went to go find you in your room this morning," she said by way of greeting, "but you weren't there. I found this instead." She dropped what she'd been holding—his notebook and sketched out blueprints—on the coffee table. She crossed her arms over her chest, raising an eyebrow at him. "When, exactly, were you going to tell me that you were planning on breaking into the Raft?"

Steve wasn't upset that he'd been caught—he hadn't exactly been hiding the ideas he'd been writing down. "You got here yesterday," he pointed out, the start of a bemused smile pulling up the corners of his mouth. "I was a little distracted and it slipped my mind for that to be the first thing I said to you."

She stared him down for a moment, eyes twinkling at his snarky response. "I want in."

"Nat—"

She pointed a finger at him, a sharp edge adding a note of seriousness to her voice. "Clint, the others, they're in there, so don't you _dare_ try to tell me that I can't come." She took a breath, her stance loosening. "I will stand over your bed in the middle of the night with a knife until you agree to let me in."

Steve laughed, glad to see that she was in a teasing mood as well that morning. "I know for a fact that T'Challa had all your weapons confiscated when you got here."

"A pillow, then," she threatened, eyes narrowing a little. "I'll smother you."

He chuckled. It was a funny thought even though he knew for a fact that Natasha could, in fact, smother him to death with a pillow. With her bare hands if she really wanted to. "You know if you'd let me finish earlier, I wasn't going to say you couldn't come."

She blinked. Then she waved a hand for him to continue, "Go on."

"I was just going to say that it's a risk. And if you come along," he paused, watching her carefully, "I'd want you to stay on the jet. Be my back-up if only absolutely necessary."

"I am _not _staying behind—"

He stood, reaching out to touch her arm briefly. "I need you to. I need to go in alone, Nat. Ross is after me—"

"Like he's not after me, too? I'm sure the bastard has a thousand things he wants to pin on me, just so happens that I gave him an easy one with Berlin."

"I know, I know. But if there's going to be a face to this operation, it's gotta be me," he pressed, refusing to back down. He knew she could handle herself—this wasn't about that. But he'd already gotten the rest of his friends in trouble. He wasn't going to let her get caught for his crimes, too. "Besides, if I get caught, who's going to break my ass out of jail?"

That made her smile a little. He could still see her hesitating, though.

"I'll get Clint out, Nat. But if I get caught, I need you to get away. I need someone on the outside."

She sighed a little, and he could see that he'd finally worn her down. She looked up at him. "Fine. I'll be your eyes in the sky. Just know I'm not happy about it."

"I wouldn't expect anything less." He gave her a little smile.

"So, what's the plan?"

-:-

It took them a few more days to finalize everything. Natasha made covert calls to Hill, asking for security details about the prison. Natasha had told him one night over dinner that Maria didn't totally agree with going against the Accords like that, and so soon after they were signed, but Hill's friends were in the Raft, too, and she wanted them out. Two days before they were scheduled to leave, having planned transportation out with T'Challa and General Okoye first, Steve sat down to write the letter that had been spinning around in his head for the two weeks since the fight in Siberia.

It wasn't perfect, but if he stared at the paper any longer, he'd probably give up and forgo sending it at all. But he promised Tony what he could—that he would be there, should the occasion arise. Steve had a nagging feeling it would, so he sealed the envelope and put it in the package with the burner phone T'Challa had delivered for him. The king had given him a look of understanding when he asked for the package to be sent off as soon as possible. "I can get it there fast," T'Challa had said with a knowing smile, and Steve wondered just how fast that meant.

Then two days later they were on a jet, speeding towards the prison in the middle of the Atlantic. Natasha had grumbled a little more about being just his pilot and emergency back-up, but he had to do this alone. He felt responsible, so it was his job to at least fix this mistake. Besides, he really had meant it when he said that if he got caught, he wanted her on the outside.

His own memory of the prison and its blueprints, along with Hill's details about the security systems made infiltrating the prison probably far easier than it should've been. They used the access code Hill had given them to get their jet onto the landing pad. It took the few guards stationed there a good minute to piece together that he was, in fact, not a government inspection team sent by General Ross, but rather fugitive Captain America, there to break out his friends.

He left unconscious guards in his wake, alarms going off around him. He could've shut them off, called in some kind of false alarm. But he was feeling a little reckless. He wanted General Ross to know he'd been there, that even his maximum security prison couldn't keep him out. When he stepped off the elevator, he actually found himself smiling as he approached Sam's cell, his friend turning with not a hint of surprise in his eyes, but rather a responding smirk that matched his own.

"Need some help in there?" he quipped.

Sam just shook his head. The bruises on his face were still present but starting to fade. "You're the worst, you know that?"

"Good to see you too," Steve laughed, pulling out the key card he'd swiped off the head guard on duty.

Once the cell door was open, Steve stepped up to Sam and gave him a hug, holding his friend tight for a moment. It had only been two weeks, but it felt like so much longer. For two years now, Sam had been a constant by his side, one of his best friends, and something gnawed in the pit of his stomach when he thought about the fact that Sam's loyalty and friendship to him had resulted in Sam getting arrested.

"It is," Sam said as he pulled back, gripping Steve's shoulder, "good to see you, that is."

Steve nodded. "Let's get the others."

He and Sam unlocked Scott's cell next. Steve didn't know him very well, but from what he'd been able to tell, Scott was a pretty easy-going guy, full of humor and a good one-liner whenever there was a situation that needed lightening. But this time when Scott vigorously shook his hand, his eyes were a tad duller, the slightest of frowns dancing around the corners of his mouth as he said, "Thanks, Cap."

"No, Scott," he said quietly, "thank you. You had no responsibility to come help me and yet you did. I won't forget that."

Scott offered him a small smile then, and went to go stand guard by the elevator, though Steve was pretty sure none of the guards would be able to move real well any time in the next few minutes.

"Hey, Cap," Clint said when they'd opened up his cell. Steve grasped Clint's arm, dipping his head in greeting.

"I know you've probably got a million questions," Steve said, "I'll fill you in up top. Nat's waiting up there for us."

The smallest quirk of a brow was the only indication that Clint was surprised. "She is? That's good. My family?"

"Safe, as far as I know. Natasha knows more." Steve paused, then said, "She'll be real happy to see you."

Steve went to Wanda's cell last. He took the key card from Sam before slowly going into her cell to where she was sitting on the floor, knees pulled up to her chest. The sight of the straitjacket and electric collar around her throat were enough to make Steve want to gag. He gritted his teeth and looked up at her face instead. She looked so young like this, and a fierce protectiveness washed over him.

"Hey, Wan," he greeted softly. He didn't want to reach forward, not yet.

She lifted her head slowly, the exhaustion and pain in her eyes wrenching his heart. But upon seeing him, there was a flicker of life in those eyes, already making her look more alive, filling her with that fierce fire that he'd come to associate with her.

"I'm gonna get you out of that, okay?" he nodded towards the garments she was restrained in.

She nodded, the movement carefully controlled. He realized then that she was trying not to make any sudden movements. He wondered how many times they'd shocked her in the past two weeks, and the thought of them doing anything to her made him angry all over again.

He reached over and gently helped her to her feet, turning her slowly so he could undo the straps of the straitjacket first. He helped her take it all the way off, throwing the thing on the floor so she was left in the same blue shirt as the guys. Her hands fell limply down to her sides, not a flicker of red magic around them. Steve lifted the key card up to the shock collar. The little light went from red to green, and it unlocked with a click. When Wanda didn't move, he shoved the card in his pocket, and reached up to gently unwind the collar from around her neck. He threw that on the floor too.

Still, Wanda didn't move.

He touched her shoulders, urging her to turn around again. When she was facing him, he placed a finger under her chin and tipped her head up so she could see him better. "You're free, Wanda," he whispered, offering her a small smile. "You're free. We're gonna get you out of here, okay? Nat's waiting for us."

She nodded, the movement still sluggish. She was pale, swaying a little on her feet, and he wondered when the last time she'd had anything to eat or drink was.

He looked over his shoulder to Sam, Clint, and Scott. "You guys good?" They all nodded and verbalized their assent. He looked back at Wanda. "You want me to carry you?"

A moment's hesitation. Then, her voice hoarse from disuse, "Yeah."

He bent down, placing an arm against her back before hooking his other under her knees, scooping her up into his arms. She looped one of her own loosely around his neck. She kept her head up, though, eyes watching their surroundings warily. Bringing her out of the cell, he nodded at the others, seeing Clint's eyes linger on Wanda for a moment, the same anger that Steve was still feeling coloring his features.

"Sam, take the lead," Steve ordered quietly. "Scott, you follow. Clint, my six. Let's move fast, guys."

Without another word, they boarded the elevator, and once they were on the main floor, they fell quickly into formation. Once off the elevator, Sam grabbed a gun off the nearest unconscious guard, and Scott followed by grabbing a taser. Aside from a bit of stirring or groaning, the downed guards made no moves towards them. When they were closer to the lift that would take them to the landing platform on top of the prison, one guard started scrambling for his own gun, but Sam slammed the butt of his pistol into the guy's temple, and he crumpled. The alarms continued around them, but they made it to the lift without any issues. It was only once they were disappearing towards the top, that Steve looked down to see a small force of guards emerging from an elevator on the other side, one of the guards in front yelling at them to stop.

"Why do they think telling us to stop is ever going to work?" Scott said, right before the lift ascended closer to the top, passing through a thicker part of the structure, and the guards disappeared from view, glass doors obscured.

It was dark when they got up on the landing platform, the wind and sea salt spray coming from multiple directions. The platform was lit up with huge stadium lights, and Steve looked up into the cockpit of their quinjet at Natasha. She had already seen them and was revving up the engine. He thought they were free and clear, but the door to the stairwell opened farther back on the deck, and half a dozen guards started pouring out onto the slick landing pad.

"Go, go, go," Steve said quickly, hustling the three guys forward. Natasha had already lowered the ramp, and they ran onto it as the first bullets started hitting the side of the jet.

"Here, lemme take her," Clint said to him, gesturing to Wanda, still in his arms.

Steve handed her gently off and rushed to close the back door. He could hear a few more bullets rattling against the metal siding, then more against the ramp as he closed it, sealing them safely inside.

"Nat, let's go," he said loud enough for her to hear, making his way up towards the cockpit.

She lifted the quinjet into the sky, the rain of bullets dissipating. Steve hardly risked breathing too freely until they were in the sky, the Raft far behind them.

-:-

Natasha stared out the windshield of the quinjet into the pitch black beyond, trying to focus on flying. Just as she was about to flip the controls to autopilot so she could get out of her seat and say hi to everyone, Steve came up behind her. He placed a hand on her shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze. She ignored the way that it instantly soothed her—and also made her skin tingle in response.

He took his hand away and moved to sit in the copilot's seat. "Thank you. For getting us out of there."

Natasha looked over at him. He looked exhausted. There was a light to his eyes that hadn't been there the past few weeks, but he still looked completely drained. She knew he hadn't been sleeping—but that was a discussion for later. She hadn't been happy about being stuck as pilot, but Steve had gotten them out like she knew he would, so she smiled a little as she said, "Of course. Where are we headed?"

Steve licked his lips and gazed out at the night sky. "I'm not sure yet. I don't want to bring them all back to Wakanda. T'Challa mentioned that it was okay, as long as it was for a short while, but,"

"That's a lot of outsiders to bring there," she finished for him.

"Yeah," he agreed. "We could go north. But I don't know if I want to land somewhere in Europe just yet."

"East? I've got a few contacts out there, and they could help with getting supplies and keeping things quiet if anything goes wrong."

"Maybe. Singapore?"

"Yeah, I've got a friend there. She'd be willing to help. South Africa is also a possibility. Nakia told me before she left that she has a few contacts down there that could help us."

"Yeah…" He was still staring out the window. She could practically see the gears in his brain, turning over all their options, and she could tell something wasn't clicking for him.

"What are you thinkin'?" she asked quietly.

Steve looked at her. "The same thing you are."

She nodded a little. It had already crossed her mind that there were six of them. That was a lot of people to go on the run with. But— "That Clint and Scott have families, so there's a chance that they'll be fine if Ross ends up offering them a deal. But the rest of us are screwed."

"Pretty much," Steve said.

"Let's just land somewhere for the night, rest. I'll contact Maria, see if she's heard anything."

"Yeah. Did Nakia give you coordinates for her contacts?"

"Already plugged into the system."

"Let's try South Africa, then," he suggested. "Even if it's just for the night."

"Sounds good."

Steve touched her arm lightly again, tilting his head towards the back of the quinjet. "Go on. I'll take over for a while."

Natasha nodded, switching to autopilot for a moment while she unbuckled and climbed out of the seat. Steve switched with her, and she turned as he started to get buckled.

"Wait," he said, and she went to stand back by his chair. "Check in on Wanda."

The way he said it, Natasha looked over her shoulder for a moment. Wanda was currently sitting next to Clint, who had a protective arm around her. The young woman, who had really healed and had become such a bright presence in the room over the last year, was sitting still, hands folded limply in her lap, her hair hanging around her face. Natasha's gut twisted. Her years of training, her own abuse and punishments in the Red Room, she knew enough to tell that the past two weeks had been hell for Wanda.

"What did they do to her?" she whispered, looking back at Steve.

His jaw fluttered as he ground his teeth together, and she could tell that he was still pissed at the state he'd found the girl in. "Electric collar and a straitjacket."

"Shit," she breathed. She inhaled slowly, trying to rein in her own anger.

"I've talked to her a little," Steve explained. "But she looks up to you, so I think it'll really help if you talk to her."

Natasha didn't point out that she was pretty sure that Wanda looked up to Steve more. In the past year, Steve had become like a brother figure to Wanda, and had really helped her after Pietro's death. But she just nodded before walking towards the others.

Sam stopped her before she could reach Clint and Wanda, crossing his arms over his chest. Natasha swallowed, looking up at her friend. She knew that he hadn't been totally happy with her siding against Steve on the Accords, and with the slight hard edge to his jaw, she wondered if he still wasn't completely over it.

Then he exhaled softly through his nose, arms falling to his sides. "You're here, which means you must've done something to piss Ross off that I don't know about."

She gave him a tentative smile. "I let Steve go in Berlin. I had him—I could've turned him in, but…" she shrugged. She lowered her voice in hopes that Steve wouldn't hear. "I couldn't do it."

Sam nodded slowly in understanding.

"I'm sorry, about everything," she said, eyes flickering over the still-healing bruises on his face.

"Yeah," he relented with a smile. "Me too."

Then he stepped forward and pulled her into the circle of his arms, and Natasha breathed an internal sigh of relief. She figured that once she explained that, in the end, she'd sided with Steve, things would be okay, but she'd still been a little afraid that she'd put a wall up between her and her friends. Sam held her for a moment longer, rubbing a comforting circle across her back, before saying quietly into her ear, "I'm glad he has you here."

She gave him a grateful smile as he pulled back. Then he started pushing her in the direction of the others, moving towards the cockpit to talk with Steve.

Natasha greeted Scott briefly. She tried to apologize about the fight in the airport, but he assured her that he was fine, and it was honestly pretty cool that Black Widow kicked his ass. She laughed at that, and she could see his eyes brighten. Steve had told her that he had a daughter, and she had no doubt that behind the jokes and humor, his daughter was all he was thinking about.

Clint saw her approaching and whispered something to Wanda before he stood and strode over to her.

"Clint, I—"

Natasha couldn't say anything more because Clint was pulling her into a crushing hug. It took a second for her brain and body to catch up with each other, but when they did, she wrapped her arms around him, holding onto him just as fiercely.

"I'm so sorry," she murmured against his neck. "The fight, I didn't want it to come to that, and I—"

"I know," Clint soothed. "It's okay, Nat. You're here," he said as he pulled back to look at her, "I don't know how or why, but you're here and that's all that matters."

"I let Steve go," she repeated.

Clint's gaze flickered over her shoulder to where Steve was sitting in the front of the jet. There was a flash of something in his eyes, the slightest twitch to his lips as he looked back at her. A smile slowly spread across his face. "Shoulda guessed. So, Ross is on your ass now, too?"

She nodded, "Mm-hmm." She was still grasping his forearms. "Guess you should've stayed in retirement, huh?"

Clint scoffed, laughing a little. "Ah, I needed a fight. Fighting each other wasn't exactly what I had in mind, but I was so bored, you know that."

"Oh, I know," she laughed. "You called me at least once a week to let me know just how bored you were."

Clint grinned, but it fell quickly. "How's Laura?"

Natasha gave his arm a squeeze. "I called her on the road a couple weeks ago. They're monitoring your phone lines right now, so I used a burner. They're probably waiting for you to call, but they're after me too, so. But, she's good." Clint's shoulders relaxed. "Ross sent some FBI agents to your house after the fight in Berlin. They questioned Laura and the kids, but she's smart and didn't tell them anything. They searched the house, tapped the phone lines, and told her to let them know if you contacted her at all. The kids are fine, just wondering when their dad's getting home."

Clint's mouth twisted. He was quiet for a moment, nodding to himself. "I got the call from Cap and I picked up and left. I didn't want Laura to get caught in the middle if anything went wrong. Turns out that was a good idea. But she had no idea where I was going or anything. I just left her a note with—"

"Your secret message," she finished. "Yeah, she mentioned that. 'Gone to the store for apple pie'?"

He smiled a little, shrugging one shoulder. "Means I'm gone on Avengers business and I don't know when I'll be back. 'A' for apple, 'A' for Avengers. It's the best I could come up with."

Natasha chuckled. "Well, we're going to get this figured out, and you'll see them soon."

"Yeah, I've already been thinking that over."

Natasha's brows pulled together. "What do you mean?"

He paused. Then, a knowing smile. "Give me a couple more hours and I'll let you know."

"Clint—"

"Go see Wanda," he insisted gently.

She wanted to protest, but the tired lines across his face made her stop. She touched his arm briefly before letting him go and moving slowly over towards Wanda. On her way over, Natasha grabbed a blanket from one of the storage bins, wrapping it around Wanda's shoulders as she took a seat next to her on the bench.

"Thank you," Wanda whispered, looking up.

Natasha smiled at the younger woman, but the defeat that weighed down on Wanda's shoulders, the carefully controlled movements she was making, all made Natasha want to turn the jet right back around and dole out some punishment of her own to the people that had done this to Wanda.

"Are you okay?" Natasha asked. "Physically, I mean. Do you have anything that needs to be patched up?"

Wanda shook her head slowly. "No. I'm okay."

"And other than that? How're you doing?"

Wanda opened her mouth, but then closed it. Natasha could tell she was about to say _I'm fine_, but she changed her mind. Instead, Wanda gave a half-hearted shrug, eyes starting to shine. "I don't know."

Natasha reached one of her hands slowly forward, offering it. It took a second, but then Wanda reached forward and took it, and Natasha squeezed her fingers reassuringly. "Do you want to talk about it?"

Wanda averted her gaze, chewing on her lip. She was still staring at her lap when she said, "One of the guards…he was particularly mean. It's not like I'm not used to people hating me or being scared of me because of my powers, but I think he just hates powered people in general. The guys, they're all human. He saw me as less than that, I think." Wanda opened her other palm, staring at it. No red tendrils of power appeared, but Natasha just waited for her to continue. "They were just supposed to shock me if I tried to escape or anything. But this man in particular liked to do it for fun. He would shock me if he didn't like the way I moved, if I coughed, if I went too fast or slow. Half the time he did it if I talked. He pulled out some pretty nasty slurs too, so on top of everything he was anti-Semetic and must've figured out that I was Jewish somehow, I don't know. After the first week, I just…pretty much stopped talking altogether or moving more than necessary."

Natasha sucked in a breath, biting the inside of her lip as she tried to control the rage she felt boiling under her skin. "Hey," she said softly, "look at me."

Wanda tipped her chin up, meeting her eyes.

Reaching for both of Wanda's hands, Natasha said firmly, "You didn't deserve any of that—you know that, right?" There was a moment of hesitation, but then Wanda nodded jerkily, a few tears slipping down her cheeks. "I'm sorry we couldn't get to you sooner. But just know that none of that is your fault, and that man…he's the one that deserves to be locked up for hurting you like that. But you're _out_. You're free, and I know it might take a little bit, but you can be who you are around us, Wanda. No one here is going to hurt you for using your powers."

Wanda's chin wobbled, but Natasha watched her take a deep breath, and when she gripped Natasha's fingers, there was renewed strength in her grasp. "Thank you," Wanda said, and Natasha reached up and tucked some of Wanda's hair behind her ear, wiping away her tears. "For getting me out."

"Well," Natasha pursed her lips, "it was mostly Steve."

Wada gave a little laugh. Then, "How'd you get here, anyway? Shouldn't you be off the hook since you signed the Accords?"

"People keep asking me that," Natasha mused jokingly. "Long story short, I let Steve go, so now I'm also a fugitive. After the airport, I grabbed some things from the compound, and I ran. Looked for Steve."

Wanda gave her a wide, close-lipped smile, and it was the happiest Natasha had seen her look since they got the girl out of prison.

"What's that look for?" Natasha asked.

"Nothing." Wanda shook her head, still smiling. "Just that you two always seem to find each other."

Natasha blinked, surprised because that wasn't what she'd been expecting the other woman to say at all. But, she supposed Wanda had a point. Still holding the girl's hands, Natasha looked towards Steve in the cockpit and smiled a little to herself. "Yeah, I guess we do."

-:-

"Tasha,"

Natasha lifted her head to see Clint coming her way, Scott and Steve trailing a little ways behind. She was seated on the edge of the ramp where they'd lowered it to get some fresh air. It was dark, stars blanketing the sky above, the only light coming from inside the quinjet. As she lifted her head, the look on Clint's face told her enough—they would be parting ways soon.

They'd only been in South Africa a few hours. Natasha got a hold of Nakia's contact and met her in the town they were a few miles out from. Nakia's contact gave her some clothes, food, a few burner phones, and letters to Nakia from various people in the area that Natasha was to deliver when she got the chance.

They'd all eaten, and Wanda and Sam had put on the change of clothes Natasha had brought back for them. Clint and Scott were still in their blue prison outfits, though. Another sign for Natasha that she wouldn't like what Clint had to say next, even though she knew it was inevitable.

"What's the plan?" she asked Clint as she stood, knowing him well enough to know that he had something up his sleeve.

"It's only a matter of time before Ross finds someway to contact us, whether it be through a news outlet or some other major channel—he's going to find a way to make sure we hear what he has to say," Clint started. "And I say that we contact him first."

Natasha nodded, knowing it was a smart plan. She still had her burner from before. She hadn't gotten a chance to check in with Maria yet, but she assumed that her friend would call if she had heard anything major. "Okay," she said slowly. She could feel Steve's eyes on her, gauging her reactions, but she kept looking at Clint.

"Scott and I have been talking, and we think we can get Ross to offer us some kind of deal," he explained.

Natasha nodded. There it was. She and Steve had already thought it might come to this, but it was still hard to think about.

"We've both got families, and I think if we hand ourselves over it'll give us a better chance. If a civil conversation doesn't pan out, we'll go public. Hand ourselves in to somebody else and make it a whole shitshow for Ross, which I'm guessing he doesn't want."

Natasha smiled a little. "Knowing Ross, yeah that'd just piss him off."

"So, you good with this then?"

She twisted her mouth, looking past Clint at Steve. He gave her the slightest of nods, and she knew he was thinking the same thing. She turned back to Clint. "It's not up to me. Like you said, you have families, and I know I don't want to keep you from seeing them any longer than we have to."

"It's almost dawn," Clint said. "I'm gonna use one of the burners and call Ross then."

Natasha tried doing the math in her head, but Steve beat her to it. "You realize it'll be like midnight on the east coast then, right?"

Clint shrugged, smirking. "He locked us up, so oh well. Plus, I'm sure the crab-ass hasn't gotten much sleep since you broke us out anyway, Cap."

Natasha laughed a little, raising an eyebrow and looking at her best friend. "You're gonna need a good lawyer. I might know someone. I'll give you his info."

"Thanks, Tash."

"And you're good with all this, Scott?" she asked.

Scott nodded. "I talked with Clint and Cap. It's our best option, I think. I've been arrested before so that's not new, but…I'm trying to be there for Cassie, and I can't exactly do that if I'm locked up in the middle of the ocean."

"You guys should be gone by the time I call," Clint said quietly, and Natasha knew that was what he'd been most hesitant about telling her. "I'm sure they'll try tracking the burner, and if they lock on before I get the chance to hang up, you guys can't be here."

Natasha nodded, and before she could say anything, Steve gestured to Scott and they walked past her, stepping onto the quinjet and far enough in that they were out of hearing range. Well, Scott, at the very least was out of range. But Steve knew better than to listen in. Clint came over and they sat back down on the edge of the jet's ramp.

"Guess this is goodbye for now, huh?" she said. She didn't know why it seemed so hard this time. Over the past few years, they hadn't seen each other as often as they used to when they'd been SHIELD agents and partners, but then again, the past few years was when a lot had changed for all of them.

"I'm not dying, you know." He nudged her shoulder with his own. "I'll be around."

Natasha drew her knees up to her chest. "Yeah, but if you get Ross to cut you a deal, my guess is you'll be on house arrest or something. You'll probably have to sign the Accords, and I'll be on the run. I don't know when we'll see each other next."

"Tash, what's going on?" he asked gently, touching her arm. Her eyes burned, and she just hoped he couldn't see the unshed tears in the dark. "It's not like we've never been in situations like this before."

"I don't know," she admitted. "I guess…it just feels different this time. I guess…I'm just going to miss you, is all."

He smiled and threw an arm around her shoulder, pulling her close. She rested her head against him, wrapping her own arm around his waist. "I'll miss you, too. But it's you and me. I have no doubt I'll be monitored once I do this, but we'll figure out a way to talk."

"Yeah, I know."

"We're gonna get through this, Nat. This whole mess, we're gonna get through it. We always do."

"I know," she said earnestly. "I just wish I could make Steve see that, too."

Clint shifted a little at her side. "What do you mean? I mean aside from the fact that the guy looks like he hasn't gotten a good night's sleep in about a decade."

"That's just it," she said. "I know he hasn't been sleeping. Something's eating at him. I think something went down after Berlin, but he hasn't talked to me, so I don't know how to help him."

"He trusts you. He'll open up eventually."

"I hope so."

"Hey, look," Clint said, pulling away so he could look at her, "I've seen you two. You have one hell of a bond. Now, don't get any ideas—I know he's your best friend, but he's best friend _number two_. I'm still best friend number one."

Natasha laughed, "Of course. Wouldn't have it any other way."

"But in all seriousness, you guys work crazy well together. Now," Clint grabbed her hand like he was afraid she was going to run away, "whether you've admitted this to yourself or not, I think there's maybe something more there. Something you two haven't confronted yet."

Natasha dropped her eyes down to her lap. She knew what Clint was saying was true. She'd barely admitted to herself that Steve meant something to her as more than just a friend, much less admitted anything out loud.

"Last year, when that whole Ultron situation was going down, and Laura said that you were eyeing up Banner, I couldn't believe it," Clint continued. Natasha flushed, looked back up at him. "There's nothing wrong with Banner, and if you guys had been happy together, I would've supported you the whole way, you know that. But I also remember those two weeks you were at my house after SHIELD fell. We talked, like, non-stop those two weeks, and all I heard was 'Steve this' and 'Steve that' so don't fault me for thinking that there might be something more between you two."

Natasha was smiling a little, because she remembered those weeks. She didn't remember talking about Steve _that _much, but clearly Clint saw things a little clearer than she did.

"What I'm trying to say, Tash, is that I think you two have something special. You don't need to act on it if you're not ready, and it seems like he might not be in the right headspace either." Clint smiled reassuringly. "But if you're patient with him, he'll open up. Because I've seen the way he looks at you, too. Even if he doesn't have feelings for you—which I'd be surprised if he didn't—at the very least he needs you. And I'm glad that you have each other."

Natasha just shook her head a little. "See? What am I going to do without you and your elderly wisdom?"

"Elderly?"

She just laughed as Clint bumped her shoulder with his again, before he pulled her to his side again for a hug. She held on tightly for a moment, looking at the sky that had lightened from a pitch black to an inky blue.

"It'll be dawn real soon," Clint said quietly. "You guys should get going."

Natasha twisted so she could give Clint a better hug. She took a few deep breaths before making herself let go. They stood together, and she walked behind Clint as he went to say goodbye to the others.

They left some food and water for Clint and Scott, along with a burner phone. Natasha kept her eyes on the two men as the jet ramp closed, and her eyes stayed glued to the door until they were in the sky and flying away.

-:-

They spend a few days in Singapore with the help of one of Natasha's old contacts. It was at the end of those few days that Wanda approached them and said she wasn't going with them. As much as Natasha hated it, especially given what the girl had been through on the Raft, she couldn't force the other woman to stay.

"I know," Steve replied gruffly when Natasha echoed this to him.

The quinjet was just outside the city, but Natasha had gone with Steve to go meet her contact and get a few more supplies before flying back to Wakanda.

"Wanda raised a good point, too," she told him, edging closer to his side to avoid a group of people walking from the opposite direction. "Four people is still a lot to be in Wakanda at once. Especially with her powers. There's still a lot that we don't know about them, so who knows if they can be tracked."

Steve exhaled through his nose. "I know," he repeated. They'd told Sam and Wanda where they'd been for the past two weeks, which was a risk in itself, even though they hadn't spilled any details on what the state of country actually was. Still, she and Steve had thought the four of them would be sticking together. But Natasha also understood Wanda's decision. When SHIELD had fallen apart, her first instinct had been to run. She couldn't very well blame Wanda for doing the same thing now.

Natasha pulled on Steve's arm gently, pulling him off to the side into the mouth of an alley. She touched his cheek, getting him to look at her. "We've trained her. She's strong and smart and she'll do just fine on her own."

Steve nodded slowly, never taking his eyes off her face.

"We'll set some ground rules," Natasha continued, "Make sure she checks in and all that."

"Yeah, that's a good idea. I just…I worry is all."

Natasha gave him a knowing smile. "I know. But you got her out. She's free. And the rest of it…she just might need some time."

As she said it, she realized the same could be true for Steve. She knew she needed to just give him some space to work things out on his own, whatever it was that was bothering him, but still…she couldn't help but worry, too, about the slightly harder edge to his features, the weariness under his eyes.

Before they could get into anything more complicated, she eased her way out of the alley, sensing rather than seeing Steve trail behind her. They only talked a little more until they met up with her contact, before taking a longer route back to the jet, making sure they weren't followed.

The first thing Natasha did was pull Wanda aside and hand her a bag. Wanda opened it, and pulled out a cozy gray cardigan and some jeans. Her fingers lingered on the sweater the longest, like Natasha figured they would. Wanda loved her sweaters.

"Thank you," the other woman whispered, giving Natasha a grateful, slightly wobbly smile.

Natasha pulled her in for a hug. This woman who had become one of her best friends, like a sister in many ways in so short a time. "You have to promise you'll be careful," Natasha said quietly as she pulled back, keeping one hand on Wanda's arm. "We're gonna find a place to drop you and then I want you to buy a train ticket to the first place you see. Once you get there, you get a burner and call Steve. He'll write his burner number down for you."

Wanda was nodding along as Natasha spoke. Wanda already knew how to do all of this—they'd gone over it a million times on missions, in training, what to do if they ever needed to fall off the map, what to do if they were compromised. But it was instinct for Natasha to recite it all now, and she hoped that by doing so, it would ensure that Wanda would stay safe while they were all separated.

She ran through the rest of the protocol they'd set up, reminded Wanda to get used to speaking with a different accent. She reminded the girl that she had to blend in without looking like she was trying to blend in.

"Maybe I'll dye my hair," Wanda mused with a small smile.

"Actually, not a bad idea," Natasha told her. It was true. For a moment, she considered doing the same. Her red was far more recognizable than Wanda's long brown locks but…she'd always been red. It was hard to even consider parting with it.

"Don't take any unnecessary risks, and check in as often as you can," Natasha told her last. "Is there anywhere you can think of that you want us to drop you first?"

Wanda pondered for a moment, then clutching the bag of new clothes tightly in her hands, she looked up and said, "Home. Sokovia. I want to see it—where it was—before I find somewhere else."

Natasha nodded in understanding.

She thought again of SHIELD falling, of mustering up enough courage to finally return to Russia. She had done it as covertly as possible, trying not to alert any old contacts that she was in the country. _That_ was not the kind of trouble she wanted to fall back into.

But she thought of tracing the lines back on her family tree, of trying to find any connection to the childhood she could scarcely remember at times. She thought of the two headstones, a lot older looking than they should be, dirt-streaked and crumbling at the edges by that chain-link fence.

She thought about what she'd told Steve just a couple of weeks ago in that church in London.

_We have what we have when we have it. _

Natasha pulled Wanda in for one more hug, and when the other woman went to go change, she turned and saw Steve looking at her from across the jet's cabin. He met her eyes, and she smiled.

**-:-**

**On the timeline stuff:**

**The dates and timeline for the MCU are all kinds of wack, so I used the timeline on the MCU wiki as a quide. Took a few liberties because, again, the marvel movies just don't pay attention to each other, and then we get shit like Spiderman: Homecoming supposedly taking place 8 years after the Battle of New York, which happened in 2012, and Homecoming taking place a few months after CW, which was set in 2016. I'm not that math, but Marvel clearly is.**

**Anyway, I went off what it said there, with the mission in Lagos happening in early May, Peggy dying May 18th, Ross talking to the team on the 19th, Peggy's funeral on the 22nd, and airport battle and Steve/Tony/Bucky battle on the 24th. After that is when I start to deviate.**


	2. Chapter 2

**During my IW rewatch today (in prep for Endgame... ha ha I'm scared), Sam made a comment that makes it seem like he hadn't been to Wakanda at all, but I'm changing that. He and Nat totally bunked up with Steve in Wakanda for a while, so yeah!**

**Also, I hate writing argument dialogue.**

**This chapter is a little (or a lot) shorter than the first one, but the next chapter will be nice and long again! Next chapter should be up in a day or two, I just have to do a little editing. **

**Enjoy!**

**-:-**

_2 Weeks Later. Late June 2016_

"I'm worried about Steve."

Sam looked up from the book he was reading. Natasha was pretty sure Nakia had given it to him, and she was happy to see that the Wakandans were as taken with Sam as he was with them and their country. "You said the exact same thing to me last week."

"Yeah, I know, but nothing's changed," she pressed. "You see it, too, right?"

Sam set the book down. They were sitting in one of the many lounge areas the guest apartment building offered. Steve was upstairs a couple floors, outside the labs Bucky was currently in, cryo-frozen. He had barely moved from that same sitting area overlooking the gardens since they'd gotten back from dropping Wanda off in Sokovia. Now that he didn't have the Raft rescue-op to keep him busy, Steve had been more quiet than usual.

"Of course I see it, Nat," Sam said gently. "The guy's not sleeping, if we're going to start with the most obvious thing. But I've tried talking to him, and I know you have, too. I think this is one of those things that he needs to work out with himself before he comes to either of us."

"_If _he comes to one of us."

Sam made a face of agreement. "That's true. If I've learned one thing about Steve since knowing him, it's that he likes to shove all this stuff down until it damn near kills him." At her concerned look, Sam held up his hands. "But then again, it might not even be that big of a deal, for all we know. That man will worry about the smallest thing for months if he can. I think worrying is just his natural state at this point."

That made her smile a little in agreement. But it didn't ease her own worry. Or her own irritation. That was part of it, she knew. She and Steve were close. She was used to being able to read him and put together what was wrong even if he didn't tell her right away. But this…whatever it was…it was eating at something deep inside him and she couldn't piece together what it was. It was pissing her off that he wouldn't open up to her.

"He's going to be fine, Nat," Sam reassured. "He just needs a little more time."

"He's had plenty of time," she muttered, getting up. "I'm gonna go talk to him again."

"Good luck!" Sam called out as she walked briskly away.

-:-

Steve was right where he'd been for weeks. His sketchbook was open to a blank page in his lap. Natasha didn't think she'd seen him draw a single thing since she'd been in Wakanda with him. Despite the fire roiling around inside of her, she tried to tamp down on it as she quietly approached him.

"Can we talk?" she said as a greeting.

Steve twisted his neck, so he could look over his shoulder at her. "Yeah, what's up?"

"Not here," she said. The guards would have to follow them down to the gardens too, but being outside, it felt more private than this empty, silent hallway. "Do you want to go for a walk?"

They did one full loop around the main garden path in silence. It gave Natasha a chance to breathe and dull her frustration before Steve spoke up. "So, what'd you want to talk about?"

She twisted her mouth, unsure how to start. "Look, I know you haven't been sleeping, and I'm getting worried—"

"I'm fine, Nat," he interrupted, tone bordering on sharp.

"Don't pull that crap on me, Steve," she shot right back, picking up her pace a little bit. "You're anything _but_ fine. I just want you to talk to me."

She saw him shove his hands in his pockets, heard the mostly quiet exhale through his nose. "I've just been having bad dreams, is all."

"Oh, bullshit." She turned and stopped in the middle of the path. Steve halted two feet from her. She hoped that no one else was planning on coming through the gardens any time soon. Having the guards trailing a safe distance away was bad enough. "That's been your excuse for weeks. And, frankly, I'm getting a little tired of it. I can't help you if I don't know what's wrong.

She watched his jaw tighten, watched him contemplate his options. Her vision fixed on the dark circles under his eyes, the two-day old stubble that he hadn't bothered to shave off yet. It wasn't him, and it hurt her to see him like this.

Still, even though it hurt, she wanted to keep applying pressure to this. She wanted him to snap back a little, wanted him to be as frustrated with her as she was with him, if only so he would finally tell her the truth.

"I don't know what you want me to say, Nat," he started, clinging stubbornly to the wall he'd built up around himself. "I haven't been sleeping. It's not exactly anything new."

She gave a slight shake of her head, lowering her voice. "I'm not talking about your pre-existing PTSD, Steve. I know what that looks like. I'm talking about whatever happened after Berlin. You haven't told me a damn thing except that after T'Challa offered you shelter here, and Bucky went back into cryo. T'Challa caught Zemo in Siberia, so I'm assuming that's where you went after the airport. What the hell happened there that's bothering you so much?"

He straightened, not quite looking at her.

Natasha continued to press. "See? You just keep doing that. You won't even look at me. Don't you trust me?"

"Of course I trust you." The flash of fire in his blue eyes was the most emotion she'd seen from him in weeks. The intensity of his gaze caught her off guard for a moment. "I trust you," he repeated, a little softer. "It's not about that."

"Then what is it about, Steve?"

"It doesn't matter," he muttered after a beat of silence.

Natasha's irritation sparked in her veins again. "The pity-party you've been throwing yourself is really getting on my nerves, Rogers. _Of course_ it _matters_. Especially if it's got you acting like this."

He met her eyes, his fire mirroring her own. "If I'm such a burden then maybe you should just leave."

She ground her teeth together, crossing her arms over her chest. "You'd be screwed if it weren't for me. You wouldn't have even made it out of Berlin in the first place. If you'd—" She stopped herself. She wanted to push him enough to open up, but she didn't actually want to fight with him. She'd never wanted that.

"No, go on." There was a flash of anger in his eyes, but she wasn't sure if it was directed at her or himself. "Say it. I know you've been thinking it for a while."

Natasha considered just walking away. But she was so _mad_. She took a step towards him. "If you'd just _listened _to me and stayed out of it after the bombing, none of this would've happened!"

"There it is," Steve countered. "How long have you been waiting to give me the 'I told you so' card?"

"Don't try and spin this around on me," she warned, voice low. "I was just trying to protect you—protect all of us. I risked everything to save you in Berlin, so don't you _dare _throw that back in my face by turning your back on me now. I'm just trying to help you—"

"I needed your help with the Accords!"

His tone of voice, the slight crack roughening the words, they caught her off guard, and Natasha stilled.

"I needed you to back me up when Ross gave them to us, but you sided with Tony. And then everything with Peggy and the three day deadline…there was no way in _hell _that I was going to sign those, especially not after Hydra and SHIELD. I would've thought you felt the same after D.C."

"I sided with Tony because it would've been a hell of a lot easier to make adjustments to the Accords from the _inside_—"

"And if I'd signed, a lot more people could be dead right now."

Her brow furrowed. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"I'm talking about Siberia." His voice was low, carefully controlled. "That's where Bucky and I went after Berlin. We followed Zemo there."

"What was even doing there?"

"Trying to unleash five other Winter Soldiers."

"What?"

"Or so we thought," Steve said, shifting on his feet. The gardens seemed to grow quiet around them. "They were all dead when we got there. Zemo had killed them. But if he hadn't, if he really had used them like we thought, a lot of people could be dead. And Ross would never have listened in time for us to actually go after him. Bucky was never the real threat—it was Zemo. But nobody cared to listen to me, because everyone was too busy trying to catch Bucky, when it was never really about that—"

"What are you talking about?" some of her anger had subsided, leaving a pit in her stomach, filled with a sense of dread. "What else happened in Siberia?"

"You wouldn't look at me the same," he whispered.

Something inside Natasha shattered. Whatever kind of fight this had been, it was over. She reached for him, but he shifted, moving out of the way of her touch. "Steve,"

"It was never about the Accords or Bucky or any of that—it was about Zemo breaking us from the inside. He wanted to tear the Avengers apart, and he did. _I _did."

"What do you mean?"

But Steve had taken a step back, had already started making his way back down the stone path.

"Dammit, Steve, _talk to me_."

"I'm sorry I dragged all of you into this." His hands were trembling as he turned, chest rising and falling a little more rapidly than before, and Natasha wondered if it wasn't just that he didn't want to talk about what had happened, but that he couldn't.

So Natasha let him go, all the fight leaving her body. Maybe Sam was right, and she would just have to wait for Steve to come to her.

She stood still in the middle of the gardens, watching the spot where Steve had been long after he'd disappeared.

-:-

Steve wandered for hours around the guest building until he finally found himself standing outside Natasha's door. He knew he shouldn't have just walked away from her earlier—she'd been doing nothing but trying to help him. But thinking about Siberia, thinking about what he'd done…his throat had gotten tight. Another one of those ghost asthma attacks sneaking up on him again, preventing him from being able to get the words out.

He'd really been trying to avoid dragging Natasha and Sam into his problems at all, but after all the thinking he'd done that afternoon, he knew it was time to tell them the truth, starting with Natasha. He hadn't been the best friend since she'd arrived, and she'd been right.

She'd risked everything for him in Berlin, and she deserved better than his silence and cold shoulder.

He didn't want to push her away anymore, because he needed her far more than he'd let on. Steve stopped outside the door to her room. He knocked, but there was no answer. He rapped his knuckles a little harder against the solid wood. Still nothing.

"Nat," he called out. He cleared his throat. "Nat, it's me. Sam told me you'd be in your room, so I know you're there. I shouldn't have walked away earlier—I'm sorry. But…I'm ready to talk now. Please, just let me in."

He braced a hand against the doorframe, waiting, listening for the sound of footsteps, of the door opening. It was silent for a long while, but he stood patiently. Natasha was stubborn, but not as stubborn as he was. He would wait all night if he had to.

Finally, after nearly twenty minutes, he heard noise on the other side of the door. Soft footsteps sounded and stopped just on the opposite side. He wondered if she was just looking through the peephole to see if he was there, if he would hear her walk away in the next few seconds.

"Please, Nat," he said again, quietly.

He took a breath, then two, and finally the knob twisted, and the door swung open. She had one hand braced against the frame, one on the door, ready to slam it in his face if he didn't say the right thing.

"Can I come in?" he asked.

She stared at him for a moment, then stepped wordlessly aside to let him in. Steve looked around her guest room as she shut the door behind him. It was pretty much the same as his own, though a few of the decorations were different, the furniture laid out in a slightly different format. She had a couch in her room, instead of an armchair, and that's where he chose to sit.

Natasha followed but didn't sit down. She crossed her arms over her chest and gave him a look that he was all too familiar with. Now it was her turn to wait, but she wouldn't wait long.

He leaned forward, bracing his forearms across his thighs. "I'm sorry, Natasha." He licked his lips, looking up at her from under his lashes. "For how I've been acting. For shutting you out. And I'm sorry for walking away earlier, and for arguing with you. I hated that."

Natasha inhaled, and her shoulders drooped as she let the breath out. All the fight left her stance, and she moved to sit down next to him on the couch. "Me too. I was trying to help you, not get angry with you."

"You had a right to be angry with me. Things are kind of a mess."

She gave a dry laugh. "Just a little bit."

"You've been wanting me to talk to you and I haven't yet because…I've been afraid of what you're going to think."

"Steve,"

He continued, keeping his eyes trained on his hands in his lap, "You already know I haven't been sleeping, but the nightmares and the PTSD, that's not all of it. A lot happened in Siberia and I…. I'm not handling it well. What I didn't tell you earlier was that it wasn't just me and Bucky in Siberia. It was Tony, too."

Natasha exhaled slowly. "Tony was there."

Steve nodded. "Yeah. He must've, I don't know. Somehow he figured out where Zemo was going, and he followed us there. And like I said, it wasn't about the damn soldiers, or the Accords, it was about _us_. About pitting us against each other."

"You said that earlier—what do you mean?" she asked.

"Zemo had a recording from December sixteenth, 1991."

A pause. Then, "Oh, god."

Steve looked at her for just a moment. She knew exactly what the recording had been of. But he pushed on anyway. "Zemo played the recording. Tony had to watch Bu—the Winter Soldier kill his parents. And then he asked if I knew."

"Hey, Steve, that's not your fault—"

"Yeah, but I should've told Tony. I mean I didn't know for sure that it was Bucky, but I knew enough. I should've told him—"

"Neither of us told him," she insisted. "I was there in that bunker in Jersey, too. Doesn't take a genius to piece together what Zola was trying to show us. So, it's not just on you."

Steve turned his gaze towards the floor again. "Yeah, but I should've said something. I waited too long because I didn't want to lose Bucky. He's…and, with Peggy—he's all I have left of my old life. Everyone else I knew is gone, and I didn't want to lose that. Especially after failing Bucky so many times. Nobody else knows what he went through, that it wasn't even him that did all those things. It was the Winter Soldier, it was _Hydra_—" He stopped himself, ran his hands down his face. "I didn't tell Tony because I just told myself that I was protecting him, and that I was protecting Bucky, because it wasn't really Bucky that killed his parents. Howard and Bucky were friends—Bucky wouldn't have done something like that."

"I know that," she murmured. "You don't have to defend Bucky to me—I know how much he means to you."

He took a shaky breath, fixing his eyes on the opposite wall. "After Tony saw the video, we fought." He clenched his hands into fists as he told her what had happened, how Bucky had gotten hurt, and she sat still beside him. "When Tony kicked Bucky, Bucky was already down and I just—I saw _red. _I just couldn't stop. I picked him up and threw him down, and I had the shield in my hands—"

His knuckles were white he was balling his fists so tight. Steve could still see the terrified look on Tony's face as he raised the shield up, and he hated himself for having been the cause of that look.

"I nearly killed him, Nat," he confessed, the whisper of his voice deafening in the quiet of her room. "For a second there, I wanted to. Things were so blurred for me that all I could think was that Bucky was down and Tony was the enemy. His helmet was off, and I nearly brought the shield down on his head and I—he was terrified. He was scared of me, and I gave him every right to be."

Natasha reached for his hand, curling her fingers over his fist. He didn't have the strength to fight her, so he unclenched his fingers, let her take his right hand in between her own.

"I never wanted it to come to that—this whole Accords thing, I didn't want it to end up like that."

"I know you didn't," she said gently. "None of us did."

"You're taking this awfully well considering I almost killed one of your friends." He turned his head to meet her eyes.

Natasha just continued to hold onto his hand. "Tony is my friend, yes. But so are you. And I know you, how much you beat yourself up over things."

"This isn't some mission gone awry, Nat," he said, pulling away and standing up from the couch. He started pacing in a short line in front of her. "I almost _killed him_. I was so selfish and blind in my own grief that I almost killed Tony. He was terrified of me because he thought I was going to do it—because I almost did!"

"Okay, first," she said firmly, moving to stand in front of him, "you need to calm down."

She gripped his forearms, making him stop, making him look at her. She ordered him to breathe, and he forced himself to take a deep breath, one after another until he didn't feel like raging around the room.

"Good." She let go of his arms. "Now, you're right. I'm not happy that you fought. It scares the crap out of me, actually, because I care about both of you. But what's done is done. You made a mistake. You both did."

"I—"

"_No_. You _both _made mistakes. I understand why Tony went after you, but I also know why you were defending Bucky. Neither of you were right or wrong. It happened, it was bad, and that's that, okay?"

She gave him an insistent look until he slowly nodded in agreement.

"Have you tried contacting him since?"

He swallowed. "Right before we left to get the others out of the Raft, I wrote him a letter. I had T'Challa send it with a burner phone, in case he needed anything."

She bobbed her head up and down. "That's good. Then that's all you can do for now, especially considering you're a fugitive."

"Just doing that doesn't feel like enough." He sighed and moved to sit down hard on the edge of her bed. He could feel his eyes burning. He could still feel the weight of his shield in his hands, right before he brought it down over the arc reactor.

Natasha approached him slowly, kneeling down in front of him and taking his hands into hers. He didn't realize they'd been shaking until her fingers wrapped around his, steadying them. "Everybody makes mistakes, Steve. Even Captain America."

"Yeah, but I don't know how to fix this one, if I even can."

"So what."

He blinked at her in surprise. He couldn't avoid her gaze when she was right in front of him. "What?"

She shrugged. "So, Tony doesn't forgive you. It wouldn't matter much anyway until you forgive yourself. Until you stop wallowing here instead of going out there and doing something, whatever that is."

"Nat—"

"Ah, ah," she scolded, squeezing his hands. "I wasn't finished. Pity parties aren't your style, which is half the reason I was so pissed at you earlier. I'm not talking about the PTSD; we've already concluded that's a whole other conversation. I'm talking about this staring at walls business because you feel so guilty about everything, even though you don't have to. You're not the only one to blame for all of this."

Steve shook his head. "I am. I broke up the Avengers, which is exactly what Tony was trying to stop me from doing—what you were trying to stop me from doing."

Natasha let go of his hands and stood, smacking him lightly upside the head. It wasn't nearly hard enough to hurt, but it surprised him. He rubbed the back of his head.

Before he could even say anything, Natasha said, "Stop being a self-sacrificing martyr. We're all to blame. The Accords…I'm sorry we didn't get more time to talk it out, and I'm sorry I didn't have your back. I wish we'd been able to work something out with the Accords, but that's over with now too, and we _all _made mistakes. Bucky is a different issue, but that fight in Berlin, that's on all of us, Steve." She sighed softly and took a seat next to him on the mattress. "I do still kinda wish that you'd stayed home. Maybe things would be a little less of a mess right now, but…I know you. And I get why you couldn't. It's just not you."

She tucked her hands in her lap, turning her head to meet his eyes. "You always get up in a fight. I've always admired that. You need to do it again, and stop trying to carry the weight of the world and everyone else's problems on your shoulders. Tony will forgive you. It'll probably take a while, but he will. And if he doesn't…" she shrugged a shoulder again. "Oh well. You gave him a way to reach out to you. So, even if he doesn't want your help, he knows it's there. And with our track record of world ending events," Natasha gave him a wry smile, before her expression turned serious again, "I think you and Tony will need each other sooner than you think."

Steve didn't know what to say. He knew she was right. He wasn't sure how long it would take to forgive himself, but maybe forgiveness wasn't what he needed. He just needed to pick himself back up, keep fighting, doing whatever he could to make things right.

Natasha closed her hand around his again, twining her fingers with his. The warmth of her skin seeped into his own, and he lifted his head to look at her.

"After Bruce left," she started slowly, "when all I did was stare at walls, trying to figure out what _I _did wrong…you're the one who snapped me out of it. You put me to work and made me remember that I was _more_. More than a heartbroken idiot, and that Bruce's decisions weren't my doing. That it wasn't my fault.

"What I'm saying is that you need to stop carrying all the blame for this. The nightmares, the anxiety, it's only going to persist because you're letting it control you. You need to let go of the guilt or it's gonna kill you. It's only been a month and I can already see that it's swallowing you up. So, I'm here," she said firmly, and he blinked away the tears that were starting to form in his eyes, "as your friend and your partner, to tell you that it's okay to let go. And you should, because you're not responsible for everyone else's actions. We all made our choices, Steve."

He licked his lips, wiping at his cheeks with his free hand. He cleared his throat, and pointed out quietly, "You chose to become a fugitive for me."

The corners of her mouth quirked up into a very Natasha-like smile. Her eyes were bright as she squeezed his hand a little tighter and said, "Pretty much. That was my choice, and I would do it all over again if I had to."

"So, you don't regret it?" he said, asking the question that had been sitting on his tongue since she'd arrived.

She held his gaze for a long moment. "No. I regret that I had to turn my back on Tony to do it. He's my friend, too, but…so are you. And I—" she stopped herself. Steve wasn't sure what she had been about to say, but he just watched, and waited. Natasha took a breath. "I care about you, Steve."

For some reason, his heart fell a little at her answer. He watched her throat bob gently, waiting for him to respond.

"I care about you, too," he said finally. "And I'm glad that you're here to knock some sense into me."

She grinned. "Well, someone has to."

Steve laughed softly, feeling a little lighter than he had in weeks.

"I also should tell you," he whispered, "I dropped the shield."

Natasha was silent for a moment. "What does that mean for you?"

He shrugged a shoulder. "I'm not really sure. Tony said I didn't deserve it, and I think he's kind of right. The world needed me to be Captain America seventy years ago, but now…so I guess I dropped that mantel when I dropped the shield."

"Well," Natasha said slowly, her eyes scanning his face, "maybe the world doesn't need Captain America right now, but…I still need Steve Rogers."

Steve smiled, releasing a breath. "Don't worry, you're stuck with me."

Natasha returned his smile. "Good."

-:-

A month later Bucky was moved to the Wakandan countryside. Shuri told him that she'd been working on Bucky during all her free time, and that she was sure she'd found a solution to getting the Hydra brainwashing out of his head. Steve had breathed a sigh of relief when she'd told him that. A weight that had made a home on his shoulders two years ago finally lifted. Shuri had just smiled with pride when she told him that Bucky had made excellent progress with the lab treatments, and that moving him somewhere quiet and peaceful would help with the rest.

In the month since he and Natasha had talked, they'd also fallen into a somewhat normal routine. He'd started drawing again. Not as much as before, but until the whole Accords and airport fight had a little more time to blow over, he needed something to occupy his time. He stared at the walls less, and when he found himself doing it more than he would like, he'd go find Natasha and they would walk in the gardens or turn a movie on in the entertainment center that Shuri had shown them.

They'd also started sleeping in the same bed again, and his nightmares dwindled. He knew the guards were talking, not quite sure what to make of him and Natasha, but he didn't care. Even though he was pretty sure Sam had spread half the rumors and had done so with Shuri, because he got teased relentlessly by T'Challa's younger sister. He supposed he'd rather be teased than have the Wakandans ready to kick him out at a moment's notice.

Still, once Shuri told him that Bucky was improving, and that he would only do better with time and space, Steve started talking with Sam and Natasha about leaving. It had been a couple months since Berlin. The news reports had quieted down some, and Steve didn't want to overstay his welcome. T'Challa had given him a more thorough tour of the city, had told him how to enter through the barriers that kept it hidden and protected from the rest of the world, and had also threatened him with death by General Okoye should Steve reveal to anyone Wakanda's secrets.

T'Challa had smiled a little as he said it, though Steve knew the king was serious. And he'd sworn on his life not to compromise the kingdom. T'Challa was already working on introducing the real Wakanda to the world, and Steve didn't want to mess up any of the king's carefully laid plans for doing so.

So, two weeks after Bucky was moved out of the city, Steve was on the quinjet with Natasha and Sam, ready to fly wherever they decided on first.

"Thank you, again, for everything," Steve told T'Challa, shaking the king's hand as Natasha and Sam double-checked their things and readied the jet for departure. "I can't tell you how grateful I am for your help. Especially with Bucky."

The king smiled. "The pleasure was all mine, Captain. And though I do expect some warning in advance, know that you, Ms. Romanoff, and Mr. Wilson are welcome back here."

"Thank you," Steve said again.

He stepped backwards towards the quinjet, giving Okoye and Nakia and polite bow of his head. Both women regarded him carefully, giving him small smiles. He was pretty sure the two women had grown to respect him enough, but he also knew they were happy to see him go. This was their home, not his, and he knew that.

With one last look, he turned and boarded the quinjet, the King of Wakanda disappearing as the ramp lifted up after him.

"Where to?" Sam asked from the pilot's seat.

Steve looked out the windshield at the Wakandan capital spread below. Part of him felt guilty, taking them away from the safety of the city. But he knew the three of them could handle anything. And he needed to be back out in the world doing something, helping people. He needed to give Bucky the time and space to heal, without worrying about anyone else. He needed his own time, to regain his footing.

"Wanda's in Amsterdam," he replied. "Let's start there."

"Aye-aye." Sam smiled, lifting the jet off the landing pad, and flying them away from Wakanda.


	3. Chapter 3

**This took a little bit longer to edit than I thought it was going to. Which, this chapter is over 20k, I should've known what I was getting into. But I did promise a long chapter! I'm here to deliver.**

**But yeah, this whole sequence is probably one of my favorite things I've written for Steve and Natasha. I am a sucker for mutual pining, but also for these two just being totally soft around each other and yeah. You know how I said they're really dumb at some points in this fic and sorry for writing them that way? Well, they have all their other brain cells, but they share one romantic feelings brain cell and it takes them a while to use it. Sorry, but also not sorry. I also warned you that this was slow burn sooooo.**

**I feel like I had other notes on this behemoth chapter but I honestly can't remember them now. If there's any editing mistakes, I tried. It's a long chapter lol. Also, I know my indentations are gonna be wacky in some spots again. Apologies.**

**Warning for adult situations about three-fourths of the way in? **

**Enjoy!**

**P.S. I live in the U.S. and I know that Endgame was out tonight, and if any of you are seeing it tonight or tomorrow, please PLEASE do not leave me any spoilers in the comments. I know most people don't do that, but I also know people get excited. But I'm begging you, no spoilers. I'm seeing it Saturday night, and I'm really trying not to know anything aside from the few trailers I've seen. So, yeah, don't spoil it! Please and thank you!**

**-:-**

_One month later. Beginning of September 2016_

They had snuck back into the States to get Sam's wings. Steve still had his tact suit, though he'd ripped the star off the front over two months ago after waking up from a nightmare. He barely remembered doing it, but Natasha had found him, the suit in his lap, and helped him wash the blood off his fingertips when he'd finally had the strength to stand.

Natasha had a back-up tactical suit in her duffle that she'd brought with her to Wakanda, but since they'd started running more vigilante missions to help with any threats, be they Hydra or alien or anything in between, Sam had sorely been starting to miss his Falcon wings that had been confiscated after the airport fight.

So, Natasha had called Maria and Steve had called Sharon, and the two women had worked together to organize a drop for them. They were staking out the place now, a little park in a small town outside Boston. The trees were only just beginning to turn, spottings of yellow amongst the green, but Steve knew it wouldn't be long before all of them were full of brilliant, fiery hues. It was a beautiful early fall afternoon—the sun was shining, the breeze that flowed through the air was light and refreshing. Families were abundant through the park, enjoying the weather as summer slowly shifted into fall.

They were watching the bench where Hill had said she'd drop the package. Sam was across the little clearing, sitting on the edge of the large round fountain, acting like he was talking on the phone, and really selling it with how care-free he looked.

Steve and Natasha had opted for a picnic table instead, bringing a couple water bottle and a little basket, like they were on a date. Natasha was wearing jeans and a thin cream-colored sweater. Her red hair, hanging loose around her face, nearly glowed, like embers, in the fall sun.

And Steve didn't know if it was how beautiful Natasha looked in that moment, or that he'd called Sharon just a few days ago to check in and then ask her for this favor, but he wanted there to be nothing left unsaid between him and Natasha.

"I kissed Sharon."

Steve winced inwardly as he said it. He had no idea why he'd just _blurted _it out. He'd meant to have a little more tact, especially on a mission, but…

He made himself look at Natasha, glad they had turned their earwigs on to mute conversation for right now. When he scanned her face, he could've sworn she was a touch paler than she had been a moment ago.

"Oh," she said, surprise clear in the syllable. She blinked, then gave him a tentative smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. "And? You just gonna leave me hanging like that, Rogers?"

He huffed out a breathy laugh, trying to make light of the situation in the way that she was. "And nothing, really. I took your advice and called her, a little bit after Sokovia. And, you were right—she's really nice. She's great, actually, and I really enjoyed talking to her, and—"

He rushed the words, trying not to focus on the way Natasha's eyes dimmed slightly, or the nearly imperceptible cracks in her façade. He didn't dare let himself speculate or hope about what that meant.

She was surprised, that was all.

"I kissed her in Berlin, before the fight. With everything going on…" he shrugged, not meeting Natasha's eyes fully. "I don't know. I guess I just wanted something for myself. Timing couldn't have been worse, but I don't exactly have a good track record with that."

Natasha was silent for a moment, stealing a glance towards the park bench they were supposed to be watching. "Have you heard from her?" she turned her head back towards him, gesturing vaguely. "Before calling her to put all this together, I mean."

"I called her after I got to Wakanda, actually. To check in and thank her for all her help." He licked his lips. "And to tell her that it probably wasn't a good idea to start anything more serious."

"Oh," Natasha said again, barely a breath as the slightest shade of pink dusted her cheeks. "I'm sorry it didn't work out, Steve."

"It's okay," he said earnestly. "Like I said, my timing was all wrong, and Sharon deserves better than that. And I, well, the kiss wasn't bad—it was good, actually, but it…it wasn't what I wanted."

He met Natasha's green eyes and he wondered if she could hear his heart pounding against his ribcage, if her blood was roaring and burning through her veins like his was.

_It wasn't what I wanted because it wasn't you_.

He didn't say it out loud, and even banished the thought as soon as it popped into his head, but still. It had surfaced from somewhere deep in his mind, and there was no denying the truth of it.

"Sharon deserves someone who feels as passionately about her as she does about them," he continued quietly. "And that's not me."

"Well," Natasha said slowly, finally, a twinkle brightening her eyes again, "she would've been a very lucky woman had it worked out."

She reached across the table to lightly brush her fingertips against the back of his hand. Just once, and then she was standing, walking a little ways from the table, nonchalantly, falling into the undercover part she was playing at the moment.

Steve remained seated, which was probably a good thing, because he had no idea what to say to that. He was just left with his skin tingling where she'd touched him. He tried to ignore that, too, but it was becoming more and more impossible.

-:-

_Two Months Later. Beginning of November 2016_

Natasha's eyes fluttered opened slowly. She wasn't really sure what had woken her. She hadn't been having any nightmares, no loud or sudden noises. But when she heard a small sound from the other side of the bed, she got her answer. Turning over, she could see Steve outlined in the pale light coming in from the curtained windows, his back to her.

She quickly glanced over her shoulder at Sam in the other bed, but he hadn't moved. He was either still asleep. Or he was awake and keeping back. She and Sam had silently agreed a long time ago that if she was there, she should be the one to help Steve.

Rolling back, Natasha eased her way over closer to Steve. He was on his side, shifting and twitching slightly, small noises and mumbled words escaping past his lips.

"Steve," she whispered, before moving even closer and pressing up against his back. She reached over, finding his hand in the dark. It was clenched in the blankets, threatening to tear seams. "Steve, it's okay."

She ran her fingers over his hand in slow, soothing circles. It was generally the best way to wake him up when he was having a nightmare. Sometimes, it had to be more sudden, to snap him out of whatever headspace he was in, but generally, she had to pull him out of it slowly. Ground him in a way that wasn't startling.

Natasha pressed her lips to the back of his sweaty neck, tucking her body closer to his. "Steve, it's okay. It's not real. It's just a dream."

She murmured this over and over to him until, finally, she felt his fingers slip into her own and squeeze back. Natasha kept her arms around him as he awoke more fully, and his breathing started to even out. She could feel each rise and fall of his chest against her own, was sure that if she pressed her ear to his back, she'd hear his heart beating soundly in his chest.

"Where are we?"

"Brazil," she responded quietly. "São Paulo."

He was quiet for a moment, and she rubbed her thumb against his. She pressed her forehead against the back of his neck as she felt him take a deep breath.

"I'm good," he whispered, letting go of her hand long enough to turn around to face her. "Thank you."

They were still impossibly close, legs half-tangled together, their faces only a few inches apart. In the dim light Natasha could make out the shadow of stubble across his jaw that he would surely shave off in the morning, and his eyes as he studied her. Looking at him, Natasha knew that whatever she felt for him, whatever was between them, it went beyond friends and partners and it was wholly, _achingly_ real. The possibility of what it could grow into was a little terrifying.

"What would I do without you?" he whispered, like he was thinking something similar.

Natasha just gave the tiniest shake of her head. She didn't know what to say to that, mostly because she didn't have an answer for herself. She tried to picture her life without Steve in it, and she couldn't. She tried to think about what these last months would've been like without him, and the thought put a lump in her throat that she couldn't swallow past.

Instead, she just let Steve pull her closer, let him tuck her against his chest. He wrapped his arms around her, fingers stroking circles across her back. And, pressed up against him like she was, she could indeed hear his heart beating in his chest.

Strong, steady. Sure.

-:-

_6 Months Later. End of April 2017_

They were back in Germany again.

Two days ago, she, Steve and Sam had been in Seville, finally catching up to a group of arms dealers that had been traversing the globe with alien weapons. Some of the weapons had been Chitauri, others had been made from some alien metal leftover from Thor's time in New Mexico, and others still were from things they hadn't even seen before. She and Steve had tracked the rest of the weapons to Berlin, hoping to put this whole thing to rest once and for all. Wanda had called yesterday for their weekly check-in, and since it had been almost two months since their actual in-person meet with her, Sam had decided to go to Scotland to see Wanda.

Natasha had offered to go—she missed the other woman and wanted some time away from the guys, but Sam had insisted. So, Sam was in Edinburgh for a few days, visiting Wanda, and she and Steve were back in Berlin.

They hadn't been back in the city since the incident nearly a year ago now. In some ways it felt like coming full circle. They'd all been doing better since then, Steve especially. She knew that he still felt some measure of guilt for it all, but he'd also told her that he'd stopped being so obsessed with forgiveness. Being back out in the world, helping other powered people and innocent people from any threats gave him purpose—something to fight for. Bucky had been improving a lot, too, which she thought helped. He and Steve talked on the phone and Skyped when they could, and those were generally some of Steve's better days—just getting to see his friend and see the improvements Bucky had made.

She was walking back to the hotel she and Steve were sharing, bag of groceries in hand. They'd done a little scoping out of the city that morning, and had promising leads about the location of the last of the alien weapons that they planned to look into tomorrow. But, while things were quiet, she decided to call Wanda.

Trying to avoid foot traffic while she pulled FaceTime up, Natasha watched the screen as the phone rang. Seconds later, Wanda was picking up with a wide grin on her face.

"Hi!" the other woman greeted cheerily in a near perfect American accent.

Natasha couldn't help but smile broadly in response, her eyes focusing on what Wanda had changed since they'd last seen each other in person, two months ago, "You dyed your hair!"

Wanda blushed a little, touching the ends of her hair. It was still long, but instead of brown, it was reddish-orange, something akin to a shade Natasha had definitely worn before. "Yeah, I thought it was time for a change."

Natasha remembered the girl mentioning dying her hair a year ago, back before they'd parted ways. She was glad Wanda had followed through. "It looks good on you."

"You think so?"

"Yes, definitely," Natasha assured her. "How's Scotland?"

Wanda sighed fondly. "I love it here. Haven't had any issues with the new apartment yet, so that's good. But I'm glad I chose to stay here. It's…quiet, and I love that."

Natasha smiled at her again, joining a crowd of pedestrians on the corner as they waited to cross. "I'm glad to hear that."

They continued to catch up a little while Natasha made her way back to the hotel. She didn't want to stay on the phone too long. She generally used her burner unless it was a special case like this, but it was still riskier using the smartphone. But it also helped her blend it—and for Wanda she would make the exception.

"How's Steve?" Wanda asked finally.

Natasha nodded. "He's good. Doing a lot better than he was."

"That's good." Wanda paused, pinching her lips together for a moment. Natasha narrowed her eyes at the other woman. "It must be nice, having time, just the two of you."

"I guess, yeah," Natasha said slowly. On Wanda's end, she heard a door open and close, then Sam popped into frame for a quick second to say hi. Natasha greeted him back, and then turned her eyes back on Wanda. "Why?"

Wanda shrugged, and the girl's image moved as she got up and helped Sam put the things from the store away. Wanda had mentioned that they were making a homemade dinner. "Just saying, it must be nice to have some time alone."

"We're working so not really a whole lot of time to relax, if that's what you're implying." Natasha had a pretty good idea of what the girl was implying, but that didn't mean she couldn't play dumb for a little bit.

Clearly, Wanda wasn't having it, though. She rolled her eyes. "Sam is right, you two are hopeless."

"Wha—What the hell has Sam been saying?"

"You know I'm in the room with her, right?" Sam's voice came from out of view.

"Well, he told me that half—"

"Most,"

"Most of the reason," Wanda corrected, "that he volunteered to come visit me was to give you and Steve some time alone. Apparently, you two have been making eyes at each other for weeks and it's driving him nuts."

"Okay, first of all," Natasha said firmly, rounding a corner on the sidewalk. Thankfully, she was only a few blocks from the hotel. She could end the conversation soon enough, before things got out of hand. "We have not been making _eyes at each other. _Second, remind me to kick Sam's ass when I see him next."

"Again," Sam said, popping into view again. "Right here."

Natasha just made a face at him and he laughed as he disappeared from view again.

"Well, all I'm saying is that if you wanted anything to happen, you guys have the time," Wanda said gently. And even though Natasha knew she was pushing a little—mostly pushing for Natasha to be honest with herself about her feelings—Wanda would support her no matter what she chose.

"Oh, she wants something to happen," Sam's voice said, and Wanda, sitting again, tipped her phone on the long side so Natasha could see Sam in the background, working in the kitchen. "She just won't admit it. Well, neither will Steve, but that's because you two are both stubborn."

Now it was Natasha's turn to roll her eyes, even though she knew Sam was right.

Sam just continued, "Damn near hadn't been able to take her eyes off him since he grew in that beard."

Wanda flipped the phone again, bringing it closer to her face, "Steve had a _beard_?"

Natasha felt her cheeks burn, and really hoped the girl couldn't see it. Because yeah, okay, she really liked the beard. Wanda hadn't seen Steve face-to-face in closer to six months, even over Skype. He'd called the girl on the phone a ton, but Natasha hadn't realized just how long it had been since the two had seen each other in person until now. "Yes, he has a beard. And no, _Sam_, I have not been staring at it—or him, or whatever."

"Have too,"

"Have not—"

"Guys," Wanda interrupted.

"Look, I'm almost back to the hotel, so I'm gonna let you guys go," Natasha said, before Wanda could keep interrogating her. "Have a good weekend. Sam, I'll see you in a few days, and Wanda, I'll come visit in a couple weeks. We can catch up more then. Especially because I want to know how things have been going with meeting up with Vision and all that."

Wanda beamed at that. "You're just avoiding my questions about Steve, but it's fine. We'll definitely see each other soon. Say hi to Steve for me."

"Will do," Natasha said, giving Wanda a little wave. The girl gave her one last smile, and then they hung up.

Natasha exhaled, unplugging her headphones and shoving them into her jacket pocket. She was about to stuff her phone in her jeans, when the back of her neck tingled. She'd been so busy talking to Wanda, she hadn't been paying close enough attention to her surroundings.

She turned two blocks before the hotel, going in an opposite direction. She kept her pace neutral, not wanting whoever was following her to catch on to the fact that she'd caught onto them. Taking a moment to scroll needlessly through her phone, while scanning from her peripheral, she finally went to her contacts and hit Steve's number.

He picked up almost instantly. "Hey, you almost back?"

"Hi, honey," she greeted brightly.

She could practically feel Steve's demeanor shift over the telephone line. "You're being tailed."

"Yup, I'm on my way back from the market. Just wanted to stop at the drugstore to pick up, like, three more things."

"The drugstore three blocks away," Steve filled in the blanks. She heard some rustling and then a door on his side of the line. He was already on the move.

"Funniest thing, though," she said, pretending to glance distractedly around, eyes focusing for a moment on the other side of the street. There were two guys on the opposite sidewalk, and she could guarantee at least two behind her. Possibly two more at a further point, waiting to corner her. "Couldn't find any apples at the market. I did find oranges, though. I think I got four of them, maybe six."

"Four on your tail, possibly two more," Steve replied. "I'm already on my way. There was an alley on the far side of the drugstore, let's lead them there."

"Sounds good, hon. I'll see you soon." Natasha hung up, half a smile on her face to keep up the nonchalant façade.

When she got to the pharmacy, she went inside, perusing the racks while keeping a careful eye on the door. Nobody followed her in right away, and while she waited to see who would show up, she found herself by the hair care products. For a moment, she touched the ends of her red hair. She'd cut it a little shorter a month ago, so it fell just past her shoulders. But the red was still so recognizable.

There weren't a ton of options for hair dyes, not in this small of a store, so she just grabbed the first shade that caught her eyes—a silvery blonde. She grabbed a few more items that she and Steve actually needed, and then a few more first aid supplies, because they were running low, and if this fight went poorly, they would need them.

As she was making her way towards the check-out, two of the men following her walked into the pharmacy. They spotted her, and then looked quickly away, making themselves look busy in front of the magazine rack. She nearly rolled her eyes. Clearly the guys left from the arms dealing ring weren't the most professional. Even if they didn't look completely seedy with their narrowed eyes and black leather jackets, their poor tailing tactics gave them away in seconds.

Natasha checked out with a cheerful smile on her face, and calmly exited the store. She heard the two men follow her seconds later. She walked to the edge of the building, and then turned into the alley Steve had mentioned. It was long, but wide enough to fit a car comfortably. There were various alcoves and back entrances to other buildings that shared the alley, and Natasha kept on high alert in case the other two that had been following her were waiting to pounce.

She could feel the others behind her and, sick of waiting, she slowed her stride, putting on a show of rummaging around in her purse until they caught up. Coming to a stop, she waited a second, then two, then three. The hair on the back of her neck stood up, and she pivoted, dropping her bags and pulling a knife from her purse in one swift motion. The man closest to her—a tall brunette—had a gun stretched out towards her, but she brought her knife slashing down, and he cried out, dropping the gun as she cut through the long sleeve of his shirt.

While he gripped his arm in pain, his shorter blonde friend lunged for her, and she sidestepped out of reach. They sparred hand to hand, her going mostly on the offensive. He was fast, but he tended to overstep. The next time he did so, she stepped into him, grabbing his arm and throwing him off balance. She kept him pinned, long enough to angle her body so she could throw her knife at the brunette, who had recovered and was reaching for his gun.

The knife embedded itself in his shoulder, and he screamed. With a satisfied smile, she punched the guy beneath her hard in the temple and he went out like a light. The brunette made one last lunge for him, but the movement was clumsy. She kicked his legs out from under him, and he fell hard, knocking his head against the ground. He groaned lowly but didn't move to attack her. Pushing her hair out of her face, Natasha turned as she heard Steve call her name, entering the alley the same way she'd come.

"What took you so long?" she asked, still on alert for the other men that had been following her.

Steve stopped in front of her, eyes doing a quick scan of the alley behind her. "I was trying to catch up to your other two tails. I did a whole walk around the block. You haven't seen them?"

She shook her head, fingers clenching around air, her knife no longer in her hand.

"Shit," Steve muttered. "They're probably trying to corner us then…"

His mouth turned down slightly at the corners, a little harder to see now that he had the beard. It was still a little strange to see him with facial hair. He'd finally stopped shaving every day and just let the beard grow in, and she had to admit that it kind of fit. Everything about their world had completely twisted and turned around in the last year, so it made sense to her that he would change with it.

The look of concentration he got whenever he was trying to come with a plan hadn't changed though, even if on the outside he seemed gruffer, with harder edges. His hair was still short, but longer on top than she'd seen it in a while, and he ran his fingers through it now. Natasha watched the movement, before taking in their surroundings. They were no more than two feet from an alcove set into the back of one of the buildings. If they needed to find cover fast, that might do it. The portion of the alley she'd come from stretched longer than the end behind her. Over her shoulder, the mouth of the alley was maybe thirty feet away. She was trying to do the math in her head, figure out where on her path she'd lost the other two men tailing her when she got her answer.

A black car pulled up to the end of the alley that was farthest away from them, the one Steve had his back turned to.

Natasha barely had time to say his name, for him to turn and look towards their attackers, when the two men climbed out of the car, making their way quickly towards them with guns outstretched.

Steve positioned himself in front of her as the first shots sounded off. She started running towards the other end of the alley, Steve right on her heels. A bullet sunk into the wall nearest to her, spraying tiny bits of debris. She could hear more echoing off the walls of the buildings, off the ground behind them.

"Down!" Steve hissed from over her shoulder, hooking an arm around her shoulders and bending her body low as bullets whizzed over their heads. There wasn't a whole lot of room to zig-zag, so they just had to hope that these guys weren't great shots.

She thought she heard Steve grunt, but she couldn't be sure as they broke their way out onto a side street. There were a few pedestrians milling about, that hadn't taken attention to the noise in the alley yet. Natasha hated leading the arms dealers onto the street, but there hadn't been any coverage in the alley that wouldn't have gotten her and Steve torn to shreds.

They split off, each taking up a position on either side of the entrance to the alley. It was something they'd done a thousand times before in situations like this. Mostly because it worked every time.

Slowing her breathing, Natasha listened carefully. The bullets slowed to a stop, and she could almost picture the two gunmen slowing their steps to match. She exhaled. Just a little farther and they'd be at the mouth of the alley. _One, two, three—_

Two pairs of outstretched arms appeared, and she and Steve each took an attacker, knocking the pistols out of their hands in seconds. Steve's guy was on the ground, unconscious, half a second before hers.

She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, looking up at Steve. "Hey—" her breath caught in her throat, "You're bleeding."

Steve looked down at the dark spot staining his light gray shirt underneath his jacket. He shook his head a little, "I'm fine."

"Steve—"

"We've gotta get these guys off the street," he insisted.

Her chest tightened as she looked at the blood on his shirt. It wasn't even soaking into the fabric that quickly, so it probably wasn't as serious as it could've been, but still. She was tamping down hard on her panic, trying to keep it from overflowing her senses.

And she wanted to argue, wanted to pause for a moment to take a look at him. But she knew he was right. Already Natasha could tell they'd gained the attention of a few pedestrians, and before any of them got more curious, she knew they needed to get the shooters back into the cover of the alley.

Steve ended up hauling both of the unconscious guys over his shoulders, and Natasha scooped up their guns, not looking back as they ducked into the alley. Steve stopped and dropped the two men next to the others Natasha had taken out earlier, as she ran down to the other end of the alley to where they'd parked their car.

There was a driver in the front seat, but he was clearly not much of a threat, because the second Natasha slid into the passenger seat with a gun and growled, "_Drive_," he was scrambling to get the car into drive and pull it into the alley on her orders.

She barely waited for him to put the car in park when she slammed the butt of the gun into his head and he was out. She helped Steve zip tie all the arms dealer's hands together and secure them all to the car.

Natasha grabbed her dropped bags on her way out of the alley, glad to see they'd been spared from stomping feet or tires, and only when she and Steve were making their way back to the hotel did they call the local authorities to let them take care of the rest.

-:-

"Guess it's a good thing I got more first aid supplies, huh?" Natasha said once they were safely back in the room, door locked. She'd meant the words to come out more teasing, but the strain in her voice was still there, anger edging her tone. She wasn't even really angry at him for getting himself shot. She was just worried.

"Nat," Steve said gently, getting her to look at him. "I'm fine. Really."

She knew he was fine—or that he would be. The serum would see to that. Natasha turned back to the sink to wash her hands. "Sit down," she ordered quietly.

Steve did as he was told, sitting on the edge of the bathtub. He removed his jacket carefully. She turned back to him and pulled the scissors out of their kit, pulling his shirt away from his body and cutting the fabric until she reached the hole where the bullet had gone in. He turned, and she did the same for the back of his shirt, until they could carefully peel the fabric away from where it was stuck to his skin with blood. She helped him ease the ruined shirt up and over his head, tossing it in the empty sink. She'd burn it later to make sure they got rid of any DNA evidence.

Settling on her knees before him, she started cleaning the wound, deliberately not looking him in the eye. "I know you're fine," she said finally. "It's not about that."

"Then what is it about?" Steve pressed gently.

Natasha thought of everything that had changed in the last year. The team was scattered, torn apart. She had Steve and Sam by her side, but Wanda was trying to build a life. Clint—she couldn't even call him for fear of him getting punished or her getting caught. Tony…she missed Tony, but she knew he for sure didn't want to see Steve, meaning he wouldn't want to see her. She'd never gotten to properly apologize for Berlin, never got the chance to try and explain to Tony why she'd done what she had.

She thought of D.C., of being forced to her knees with Steve and Sam, as Rumlow and the STRIKE team held guns to their heads. Not SHIELD, but Hydra, the government they thought they worked for, ready to put them down like dogs and bury them in shallow graves.

She thought of General Ross, and what he would do if they were caught.

_What happens when the shooting starts? What, do you kill Steve Rogers?_

She thought of that sometimes. About how Ross said that, if provoked, he wouldn't hesitate to bring Steve down with force. She knew he would do it, too. He'd tried to have Bruce put down after his experiments had gone wrong, turning him into the Hulk. Steve would be no different. And a year ago, in Berlin, when she'd realized just how far Ross was willing to go to stop all the Avengers that didn't agree with him, she couldn't breathe. The thought of Steve just doing what he thought was right, of defending Bucky and the others, only to get shot down, it terrified her.

It scared her whenever he got hurt. Even today, when the bullet wound was just only two inches away from having been a little graze, she was scared. She'd seen the blood on his shirt earlier, and her heart had clawed its way into her throat.

Because even if their partnership dynamic hadn't changed all that much over the last year—one of the only things to remain steady—her feelings for Steve had changed. Grown. And that scared her, too. Being a spy, being on the run, those were all things she was used to, things she could control. Falling for Steve had thrown her for a loop. She didn't hate it, not at all. But she doubted herself, doubted her heart. Even though letting her heart decide was what had gotten her into trouble in the first place, the last time they were in Berlin.

She thought of Sam's teasing remarks, and she thought of Wanda's dyed hair.

That was pretty much the only other thing to remain unchanged over this last year. She'd cut it sure, but it was still red. And as reluctant as she was to let go of the color—even though it wouldn't be permanent—she knew it was time for a change. Steve had changed, and his appearance reflected that now. Maybe it was time for her to do the same.

"Nat," Steve said, bringing her back into focus. "What're you thinking about?"

Not knowing how to voice everything that was going on in her head, she tried to evade, "Who says I'm thinking about anything?"

"Well, when you're really dwelling on something, you get this little crease right here," Steve said, lifting a hand. Gently, with his thumb he stroked between her eyebrows. She finally looked up at him as his hand fell away. "What's bothering you?"

She started bandaging his wound. Luckily it was a through and through—given how clean the wound was, and knowing how fast the serum could work, another day or two and he probably wouldn't even need the bandages.

Natasha debated telling him about what Ross had said, but she didn't think it would do a whole lot of good. If they got on Ross' radar again, if they got caught—which they had about a dozen different plans for if that happened—then she would let him know. But right now, she only wanted one thing from him.

"Can I ask you a favor?" she said, taping off the bandages, before standing up.

Steve stood, watching her as she washed her hands, rust-colored water running down the drain. "Of course."

She exhaled slowly, drying her hands and then grabbing the box of hair dye out of the bag she'd brought into the bathroom. She showed him the box. "Can you help me?"

-:-

Steve stood in the doorway of the bathroom as Natasha blow-dried her newly dyed hair.

He'd been surprised when she'd pulled out the box earlier. The words had rushed out of her mouth as she'd explained that Wanda had dyed her hair, and that it looked really good on the other woman, and she'd been thinking about it herself quite a few times, and then he'd had to reach out and stop her because she'd been babbling. Which Natasha only did when she was really nervous.

In all the years he'd know her, Natasha had always had her red hair, so he imagined that, despite her changing her appearance and wearing disguises on missions, it was different this time around. If she had to drastically change her hair for a mission, she used to don wigs. But they didn't have the luxury of carrying around a bunch of disguises.

So, of course he'd agreed to help her. Natasha made him shower and change, and then they'd set to work. Steve mostly helped her with the back of her head and helped her make sure that the dye was even all the way around. He was curious to see how it would turn out. He couldn't imagine that Natasha would look bad in anything, but the platinum blonde was a pretty drastic change.

They'd let the dye sit, and then she, too, had showered. She'd changed, and she'd swung the bathroom door open, so he'd wandered over and watched as she finished her hair. She'd mentioned something about cutting it short again at some point, but for now it still hung just past her shoulders. She'd dyed her brows too, though he could tell she wasn't as happy about that result. _That's what make-up's for_, she'd told him, and he could see that she'd already filled the brows in to be a medium brown.

"It looks good," he told her when she finally shut the blow-dryer off.

She'd been avoiding his gaze in the mirror the whole time, but now she turned around to face him. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," he said earnestly, walking up to her. He reached out and tucked a strand behind her ear. "It's different, and will probably take a little getting used to, but…it doesn't look bad at all."

She narrowed her eyes at him as he let his hand fall back to his side. "So, you're saying that it doesn't look bad, but you're not saying you like it."

Steve blinked at her, then chuckled. "I like it just fine, Nat."

"_But_,"

"But," he said, tilting his head a little. "I prefer the red."

Natasha gave a little sigh, running her fingers through her hair. "Yeah, me too. I already miss it."

"But the blonde looks good," he repeated, trying to make her feel better. "Besides, the red will grow back."

"I know." She grasped a chunk of hair between her fingers before letting it drop. Then she smiled and gave a little laugh. "Wanda's gonna be so surprised."

"You could call her again," he suggested, as they walked back into the main room.

"She did seem very interested in seeing your beard."

Steve chuckled. "I forgot it's been a while since she's seen my face. Why don't we—"

He stopped, listening.

Natasha was instantly on alert next to him. "Steve, what is it?"

"Footsteps," he said quietly. "In the hall. Two guys at least."

"Guess there were more of them after all," she muttered as they moved into position. "They're probably trying to catch us by surprise. They'll probably take out the lock."

Steve moved to stand next to the door frame, just far enough along the wall that they wouldn't be able to see him right away when they came through, and he wouldn't get hit by anything when they broke the door down. Natasha was grabbing her batons from her bag, a new set that Shuri had sent them a couple weeks ago.

"They're almost to the door," Steve said quietly.

"When we inevitably have to switch hotels after this,"

"Yeah?"

Natasha gave him a pointed look. "We're getting a nice one. Pool, jacuzzi, bar, the works."

Steve laughed softly. "Yes, ma'am."

A second passed, then two, and then a shotgun blast sounded as the lock and knob of the door were blasted away.

Steve slammed into the first guy that came into the room, yanking the shotgun from his grasp and slamming the butt of it into the guy's head. He crumpled, and Steve turned to see that four more guys had entered the room. He saw Natasha whirl on one, taking him down with her batons in one blow, but another got behind her and kicked her hard in the back. She fell to her hands and knees, and before she had time to recover, he was kicking her in the abdomen and she fell hard into one of the side tables. Steve pulled his arm back and then hurled the shotgun across the room, nailing the guy in the head. He fell to his knees, dazed, giving Natasha the opportunity to get back on her feet.

The other two guys stared at him as Steve turned, rising to his full height. One of them had batons similar to Natasha but buzzing with electricity. The other had a gun. Steve glowered at them, and the one with the pistol lunged, too quickly, too eagerly, and Steve had him laid out on the floor in a matter of seconds. The one with the batons, the bigger of the two, grinned.

"Doesn't matter if you stop us," the man said. The guys in the arms dealing ring had been from all over this place, but this guy was American. He shifted on his feet and Steve moved with him. "There's plenty more where we came from. You two've got prices on your heads. If the government doesn't catch up to you first, someone else will." He gave a sidelong glance at the single bed in the room. "They'll have a hoot when they find out you two are cozying up in the same bed. Tell me, Cap, she fuck as good as they say she does?"

Steve barreled towards him, catching one of the batons in his hand as the man brought it down towards his head. The electricity pulsed through his arm, and he groaned, jaw slamming shut. But the electricity wasn't turned up nearly as high as it should've been. Steve pushed down, and the man bent, trying to maintain leverage.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Natasha finish off the guy she'd been tousling with, then stand at the ready, watching him, as well as keeping an eye on the door should any more back-up come through it.

The guy jabbed his other baton at Steve's left flank, right where he'd been shot. Steve blocked the first hit, but with the electric pulses still traveling down his right arm, he was slow to block the second hit, and the man got him in the ribs, right above his wound. He screamed lowly through gritted teeth. He pushed back again, and the other guy stumbled, long enough for Steve to grab his shoulders and run him into the opposite wall. The guy blinked, dazed, before Steve slammed his head back again, drywall cracking with the force before the man slumped to the ground, unconscious.

Breathing hard, Steve turned to look at Natasha. She pushed her blonde hair out of her face, and gave him a nod to tell him that she was all right.

"Let's get this cleaned up and then let's get out of here," he said.

-:-

Once they finished up tying up the intruders, Natasha set to work collecting all of her and Steve's things and packing their bags up, while Steve went down to check the perimeter of the hotel. He called, telling her it was clear, and then he went to go check them out. She wiped down any of their fingerprints and collected Steve's bloodied shirt. Then she pulled her hair back in a braid and put on a pair of sunglasses before heading out of the hotel and rendezvousing with Steve two blocks away.

"Hey," he said in greeting, grabbing his bag from her and slinging it across his shoulder. Before she could protest, he was taking her bag, too. "Called the cops and left another anonymous tip. Did you find a hotel for us to stay at?"

She smiled a little, glancing down at her phone. "Yup. A real nice one across the city."

Steve gave half a smile and let her lead the way as they headed towards the nearest U-train station. "You sure about this?"

"We've been careful about our spending thus far," she pointed out. "We've been shot at how many times today—we deserve to splurge."

"Fair enough."

"It'll be fun," she crooned playfully, getting him to laugh a little. "Here, hand me my bag for a minute."

Steve passed over her duffle, and she rooted around for the purse she kept inside for situations like this. She handed him back the duffle, and then dug into one of the inner pockets of the purse, pulling out the fake wedding rings she kept inside. She slipped the engagement ring on first—sizable enough to pull off the part they were about to play, but not so big that it drew the wrong kind of attention—and then put the simple gold wedding band. She handed Steve's over to him.

"What's this for?" he asked as he slipped it onto his finger. She tried not to think too hard about the way her stomach fluttered as he took a step closer to her, already half slipping into the role they were going to play.

"We're going to be obnoxiously American," she told him.

He frowned a little. "Won't that put us more on the radar if there are more of them out there."

"On the contrary," she said, "if we're annoying and touristy enough, I think it'll throw anyone off the trail. Trying to be inconspicuous Americans is more telling."

"So, instead we're going to try and stick out as much as possible."

"Exactly."

"Smart." Steve shifted both duffle bags to one shoulder, then crooked out his elbow. "Shall we, dear?"

Natasha laughed, and slung her arm through his. "Right this way, honey."

-:-

Natasha talked the concierge's ear off once they got to the hotel. The middle-aged man looked relieved to get rid of them as she and Steve headed for the elevators, hand-in-hand. She'd gotten her and Steve the honeymoon suite—not an easy feat without a reservation—but she'd gushed and gushed about how beautiful their made-up wedding had been, and how they were oh-so excited to be traveling in Europe for the first time on their honeymoon, and how there must've been a mistake, and they definitely should've had the room booked for that weekend.

Steve just gave her an impressed look once the elevator doors were sliding shut and they were headed to the top floor of the hotel.

She shrugged. "Told you it'd work."

Looking down, she realized that they were still holding hands. Steve must've realized it, too, because he stiffened, and made to pull away. But she squeezed his hand, keeping it firmly grasped in hers. She looked up and met Steve's eyes. "There's cameras. We should be as convincing as possible."

It was an excuse, and a poor one at that. But Steve went along with it, shifting their hands so he could lace their fingers together. Natasha smiled a little to herself as they stepped off the elevator. Their room was at the end of the hall, and she kept on the face of a happy newlywed as they walked. Acting with Steve had never been hard, despite his amateur skills when they'd first been partnered up together. He'd gotten so much better over the years, and given how well they could read each other, all it took was a signal from her—a touch here, a smile there—and he'd fall in right next to her like it was the most natural thing in the world.

And it was natural. It felt _right_, having him next to her. The fake rings, the fake wedding, she wouldn't go so far as to say that's what she wanted. But holding his hand, she liked that. Having his strength and warmth side by side with hers, it felt real and right and exactly as it should. She couldn't help but think again about what Sam had said, teasing her about the two of them having alone time.

She didn't want to assume—not like that skeevy man had implied to Steve. _Tell me, Cap, she fuck as good as they say she does? _She'd heard every word. Steve hadn't said anything about it, but the slight stiffness in his shoulders told her something was bothering him. But she didn't want to assume that Steve felt the same way about her as she felt about him. And maybe that was their problem. For years they'd been doing this dance, teasing that line between friends and partners and something more. Some part of her knew that Steve felt _something _for her, she'd just been too afraid to ask him how deep those feelings ran.

"Nat?"

"Hmm."

Steve was looking at her with a bemused expression on his face. The fondness, the softness in his gaze nearly knocked the breath out of her. "You gonna unlock the door?"

"Oh." She hadn't even realized they'd stopped walking. She dug the key card out of her jeans pocket and slipped it into the lock. The light turned green and the door clicked open.

She let go of Steve's hand once they were safely inside, the door locking back into place behind them.

Steve whistled, taking a look around their suite. "You really went all out, didn't you?"

"It _is _our honeymoon," she teased, flashing him a smile as she wandered in past him.

The suite was huge. The sitting area had a couch and two armchairs surrounding a coffee table. Art hung on the walls, the curtains drawn to let in the afternoon light. Off to the left was the master bedroom, where a king size bed sat in the middle of the room, with the master bath attached to the bedroom. The bathroom's sink had plenty of countertop space, as well as a shower stall and a bathtub. Natasha noted that the bathtub could probably fit two people, and just as quickly shoved that thought away.

"I'll admit," Steve said, setting their bags down in the bedroom, "it's kinda nice to have the fancy accommodations for the next couple of days."

She smiled to herself. "Sam's gonna be pissed."

He chuckled, nodding in agreement. Then he shrugged, mouth pulled into a soft smile. "What he doesn't know won't hurt him."

"Right," she found herself murmuring back as she held his gaze. For a second she thought that he didn't just mean the accommodations. The way he was looking at her in that moment, the way he was taking her in…a small thrill went through her. Her heart sounded so loud in her ears, and she turned to rummage in her bag in order to avoid him. She started organizing the mess she'd made by just throwing everything in earlier, annoyed with herself for dragging this on so long.

She knew she had feelings for Steve, but every time that voice in her head told her to go for it, there was an equally strong voice holding her back, whispering _no_. Years and years of training ingrained in her told her that everything she was feeling would never be hers. Steve was everything she'd been taught to hate, and deep down, a part of her still believed that she didn't deserve to be with him.

So, she kept pulling back and pushing him away like she always did. She would flirt and tease and be physically close to him, until the warning bells in her head went off, and she drew away again. She'd gotten better over the years, at allowing herself to be close to people, to remind herself that she deserved a life and happiness and friends. But when it came to this, when it came to _Steve_…it was like being twelve and tossed in the tundra again, trudging through snowdrifts that were nearly bigger than her. Making progress, but slowly, afraid she wouldn't make it to the end and that she'd just freeze instead.

Bending over to grab the shirt she'd dropped, Natasha winced, suddenly reminded that she'd been kicked around not that long ago.

"Do you want me to take a look at that?" Steve asked. "Should probably make sure you don't have any broken ribs."

She was pretty sure she didn't have any broken ribs—she'd had them enough times to know what it felt like—but she nodded. "Sure. But after I want to check your gunshot again."

Normally, she would've expected him to tell her he was fine, but he didn't argue. She grabbed their first aid kit and they headed into the bathroom. Steve switched the lights on and carefully Natasha lifted her shirt up, pulling her arms out and letting it hang around her neck. Steve's hands were warm as he inspected her torso. She was a little sore from where she'd been kicked in the abdomen, but the worst was a spot on her back, where she'd been kicked into the solid wood side table that had been in their previous hotel room.

Steve prodded the spot, right below the right side of her ribcage, and she hissed through her teeth.

"Sorry," he murmured.

He stepped back, and she fixed her shirt back into place. "Mostly just bruises," she told him. She'd be sore tomorrow, and the bruises would be a little more prominent on her skin, but it was nothing a little bit of painkillers couldn't take care of. "I'll be fine. You, on the other hand, just got your gunshot electrocuted."

He chuckled a little and took his turn lifting his shirt up. The bandage on his back, over the exit wound, was clean, pristine white. Considering she'd put it on maybe a few hours ago, she wasn't surprised. The one on his front had the smallest speckling of blood, so Natasha carefully peeled it away to look at the entry wound. She nodded in satisfaction when she saw that the stitches were holding, and the fresh blood had already clotted up. Even now, just a few hours after patching him up, Natasha could see the wound closing slowly. She'd inspected enough of Steve's injuries over the years to get a pretty good estimate of the serum's healing capabilities. By tomorrow night the entry and exit wounds would probably be almost closed and she could cut the stitches out and let his body do the rest.

"See?" Steve said as he dropped his shirt back down. "All good."

Natasha just gave him a look as she opened up the complimentary bar of soap and set to washing her hands.

"What now?" she asked as they wandered back into the bedroom.

It was late afternoon, heading into the evening. Now that the adrenaline was wearing off, she was starting to feel hungry. They had a little bit of food, but not really anything she wanted. It was weird. They still had enough of the day left to do something, but their plans to scout around the city and find the rest of the arms dealers had been squandered by the arms dealers coming to them instead.

"I'm not sure," Steve replied, echoing her uncertain thoughts. "We've gotten nights off before, but not really whole weekends. Usually we've got a list of leads to go off of…"

He made a face, and Natasha nearly laughed. Steve didn't do bored well. For that matter, neither did she. A minute passed, and then they looked at each other. Before he even spoke, she knew what Steve was thinking.

"Do you want to go make sure there's no more of them lurking out there anyway?"

"Definitely."

-:-

They spent nearly four more hours wandering about the city, switching between public transportation and walking on foot. Part of their time was spent getting dinner, where Steve often found himself watching Natasha, taking in her dyed hair. He'd meant what he said—he really didn't mind the blonde. She could pull off pretty much anything with ease and grace if she set her mind to it. He still preferred her red hair. But he had to admit there was something eye-catching about the blonde.

They ate, and went back to walking around the city, stopping every once in a while at a shop or street stall, trying to blend in. They were still wearing their fake wedding rings, and though it was strange wearing a ring in general, he didn't mind this so much, if only so he and Natasha gained less attention from other single people. And even if it was pretend, it was nice to call her his for the night. Partly because he hadn't managed to do it for real yet.

He thought about what that big man had said to him earlier in the other hotel room,the nasty comment about him and Natasha sharing a bed.It had bothered him. _Of course _it had bothered him, but he'd tried not to let it show. Even now, when he was supposed to be playing the role of adoring husband, there were moments when he found himself close to Natasha, and then wanting to pull away. The two of them had grown comfortable with physical closeness a long time ago, but he didn't want to assume anything beyond that.

He also didn't bring it up because it was one little comment from some asshole just trying to get under his skin. He was pretty sure Natasha had also heard what the guy had said, but she hadn't spoken up about it either. In some ways, he was glad for it. He didn't want her to know how much it bothered him. Because even if he'd heard people say things like that about her before, it wasn't right, and she didn't deserve it.

There had been rumors at SHIELD about her, and during his two years there he'd heard plenty of them, mostly from lower-level agents who were easy to scare off when he glared and used what Nat dubbed his _Captain America voice. _But he'd heard Rumlow and STRIKE team talking about her before too, about him, about the two of them together, and though it became habit to ignore the comments and rumors and stories, there were times it still nagged on him.

He wanted to tell Natasha how he felt. Sam had called him yesterday after arriving in Scotland. Natasha had been in the shower, and Sam had basically told him to stop being an idiot and just go for it, since they'd have a few days to themselves. It was the perfect opportunity, and Steve knew his friend was right. He shouldn't wait too long—not again.

But the words got stuck in his throat all the time. He was pretty sure she felt something for him, too, but then she would pull away. Throw her walls up in a way that had him craning his neck back just thinking about high they were. All that she'd been through, all that they'd both been through, it kept him from pushing forward. He was stuck, and he hated it, but he still hadn't figured out how to take that leap.

Steve exhaled slowly through his nose, trying to release his frustrations and just focus on what was in front of him. They were headed back to the hotel now, having found nothing outstanding during their trek around the city. They hadn't been tailed, on foot or by car. They hadn't witnessed any commotion or outbreak of violence signaling that the sellers had found buyers for their weapons. It had been quiet. And while it had set him a little on edge, it was also kind of nice. If they had finally put an end to this arms dealing group, they would actually have the next two and a half days of nothing but quiet and relaxation.

It was a strange concept, given that they'd pretty much kept themselves busy non-stop over the last year. But this would be good for them. Steve looked at Natasha as they walked. Her gaze was mostly kept forward, but here and there she'd turn and look at the crowds around the bars, shop windows, or just the lights of the city glimmering in the night around them. They were holding hands. It was part of the charade, he knew, if they were being watched, but he thought maybe it was also to keep each other close. Her skin was warm, and he could feel the rings on her left hand against his fingers.

For a moment, he allowed himself to think this is what it would be like. If he ignored the fact that they were on the run, constantly watching their backs. The going out, the evening walks, the talking and laughing and carefreeness of it all—this could be his life. But he would get bored with just that. Having her by his side like this, happy despite their circumstances, always ready to have his back, it was perfect. It was all he needed.

-:-

It was after nine when they got back to the hotel. Steve went into the bathroom to freshen up, and Natasha went over to her duffle to try and find her swimsuit. The jacuzzi would feel amazing with her sore muscles. But she got closer to the bottom of her clothes and started to frown. She dumped the bag on the bed, sure her suit must be tangled up in another article of clothing. But no—it was gone.

"Shit," she muttered just as Steve was coming out of the bathroom.

He was drying off his hands. "What?"

"I don't have a swimsuit."

He tossed the towel onto the bathroom sink before walking over to her, the slightest smile quirking up the corners of his mouth. "Weren't you the one that told me, no matter where you are, where you're going, how long you'll be gone, _always _bring a swimsuit."

She rolled her eyes. "Yes, smartass, and I _did _have a swimsuit. I wore it on that beach we were staking out in France last month. I must've left it in the hotel there."

She could probably pull something together to wear down to the jacuzzi, but she didn't want to do that. They would just have to go shopping tomorrow, which would be fine. They were both in need of some new clothes, anyway. Steve, she knew, needed more shirts. She had at least three in her bag that she'd stolen, and he'd lost another one earlier to bloodstains and bullet holes.

"It's fine," she said, half to herself. "I'll just take a bath instead."

She gathered up her toiletries and headed for the bathroom.

"Enjoy," Steve called out after her, still the slightest bit mocking.

Without turning around, she lifted her hand in the air, flipping him off. Steve just laughed, and she shut the door.

A bath would be nice, she reminded herself as she started the water running and put the plug in. It had been a really long time since she'd had a bath. At least a year if not longer. She finished undressing and carefully climbed in, the hot water wonderful as she sunk down. The threw her hair up into a bun on top of her head and sat back as she let the water fill up the tub.

As she turned the water off, she couldn't help but think how perfect this would be if she had a few candles, maybe some bath salts to help ease her sore muscles. Already, though, even if it wasn't a jacuzzi, her body was starting to feel better, more relaxed. She would still be sore and bruised in the morning, but it would be better having soaked in the tub. In the silence of the bathroom, her mind flashed again to the fact that, with a little maneuvering, the bathtub could definitely fit two people.

Natasha lifted her eyes to the door. Part of her wanted to call out, invite him in here herself. The other part of her wanted him to just walk in, to make that first move. And she figured that was the problem with this whole thing. She was either hesitating or waiting, and maybe he was doing the same, resulting in them getting absolutely nowhere. About the only thing they were managing to do was annoy Sam, which was a little bit hilarious considering nothing was _actually_ happening between her and Steve.

Making up her mind, Natasha quickly washed her body and face, and then climbed out of the tub, pulling the stopper from the drain before she wrapped herself in a towel. Padding over to the door, she opened it and stepped into the bedroom. Steve was on the bed—asleep.

Natasha smiled to herself, watching the gentle rise and fall of his shoulders. He was on the far side of his bed, laying on his side facing her. His features were softened with sleep, managing to look a little boyish even with the beard. She gave a little shake of her head, and grabbed some clothes from the pile she'd left on the bed. She pulled her underwear on underneath her towel, and then turned around to pull her sleep shirt over her head. She went back into the bathroom to hang her towel up and brush her teeth. Then, as quietly as she could back in the bedroom, she shoved her clothes back into her bag and set it on the floor, climbing into the huge bed before switching off the light Steve had left on for her.

She blinked a few times, letting her vision adjust. She could see the dim outline of Steve in the dark. There was the glint of something in the light filtering in through the crack in the curtains, and Natasha noted that he was still wearing the ring she'd given to him.

-:-

Natasha startled awake, her breath catching in her throat. She blinked rapidly, trying to clear the last images of her nightmares from her mind. She didn't even want to think about what she'd seen…all that blood…_Steve_—

She twisted her neck, glancing at him in bed next to her. He hadn't stirred. _Good, _she thought. She didn't want to wake him. He'd been sleeping a lot better in the past months, but there were still days—sometimes weeks—where he would go without sleeping well, the bags under his eyes becoming prominent again. But that hadn't been the case recently, and she wanted to keep it that way.

Glancing at the clock as she carefully crawled out of bed, she saw that it was just after four in the morning. She'd gotten a little over five hours of sleep, which wasn't bad considering now she was wide awake enough that even if she went back to bed, it wouldn't be for a while yet. She used the bathroom and then went to go grab the laptop she and Steve shared out of his bag. She fished her headphones out of her duffel, and padded into the living room area, quietly easing the bedroom door mostly shut behind her.

Natasha curled up on the couch, pulling a blanket over her bare legs. The laptop was courtesy of Shuri, who had given it to Steve when they'd been visiting Wakanda for a couple days a few months ago. Shuri had caught them up on her work in America, with the science and technology program she was running, but the secure laptop was something she'd been hanging onto for when she saw them next. Steve was able to Skype with Bucky on the computer, and they were able to monitor newsfeeds and police channels more securely on it than with their phones. And, in case they needed to relax, Shuri had also ensured that Netflix and YouTube had shortcut icons installed on the home screen.

She clicked on Netflix now, scrolling through the options for the better part of half an hour before settling on a baking show. She had just started her second episode when the bedroom door creaked open, and Steve stepped out.

"Hey," he greeted, voice still rough from sleep.

"Hey," she echoed, pausing the show and taking out her headphones before setting the laptop on the coffee table. She shifted, pulling her legs close and Steve settled down next to her on the couch.

"Bad dreams?" he asked.

She nodded.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

Natasha thought of what her nightmares had been filled with—some usual images of the Red Room, of young girls and ballet music all spinning together in harshly bright clarity. But what had woken her up wasn't that. First it was Alexander Pierce that she'd seen, standing off with her. But it had changed, and Pierce was pointing his gun at Steve, standing on the bridge of a Helicarrier, while she was far away, trying to get Steve's attention. She'd tried running to him but running in dreams was like running through molasses—every movement was slow and sluggish, her limbs refusing to cooperate. As she ran, Pierce turned into General Ross, gun pointed right between Steve's eyes.

She'd screamed and screamed, trying to run, but time only seemed to speed up after Ross had fired the gun and Steve was on the ground, blood soaking the ground beneath his head. And when she'd gotten to him, fallen to her knees beside him, the gun had been in her hand.

The clattering of the gun as she dropped it was when she had woken up.

She looked at Steve now, chest tight as she remembered her nightmares, and she shook her head. "No. Not tonight."

Steve nodded. "Okay."

He knew to ask if she wanted to talk about her dreams, but he also knew when to back off. She knew to do the same for him, that sometimes talking about it didn't help. And tonight, she didn't want to dwell on what she'd seen. She just wanted to forget about it.

For a moment, they were quiet. Then Natasha looked at the computer, still paused on Netflix. She turned to Steve. "Do you want to watch a movie?"

He looked at her, blinking as he registered what she'd said. Then a slow smile crept across his face. "I'd love that."

It had been a long time since they'd sat down and watched a movie together. Back when they'd first become partners and friends, movies had become a thing for them. She'd been trying to get him caught up on a lot of the pop culture he'd missed and, well, after long, arduous missions when they wanted to relax but still felt too awake to sleep, what better way to spend the time than to watch a movie. Realizing that Steve hadn't seen _Star Wars_, and that he had no idea about the plot twist in _Empire _had been one of the best days of her life. The second they had a weekend off, she'd sat him down and they'd marathoned all six films. They'd had a fantastic time, and it was one of the first moments where she'd really felt like she and Steve were becoming actual friends, not just work partners.

And right now, it was nice—it felt _normal_. After being on the run for a year, it was a relief to do something that they'd always done. They settled instead on a decently rated thriller. Interesting enough to keep them watching, but also not something they would mind shutting off if either of them started getting sleepy enough to go back to bed.

Natasha wasn't sleepy, but they were an hour into the movie and she had really stopped paying attention. Steve wasn't so close to her that they were constantly touching, which was almost more infuriating. Their shoulders bumped together once in a while, whenever either one of them shifted slightly, but other than that, there was just enough space between them to drive her crazy. Not so long ago, at a slow point in the movie, her mind had started to drift, and she'd suddenly remembered that she'd been fully ready, getting out of her bath just hours before, to march into the bedroom and tell Steve how she felt about him.

She'd lost a little bit of that courage. She was trying to get it back because he was _right there_, but she also couldn't help but think that it was just after six in the morning. It was the quiet time of the night right before dawn that she and Clint had always joked bad decisions were made in.Not that telling Steve how she felt was necessarily a _bad _decision…but maybe it wasn't the right time. She rolled her eyes a little at herself. When had she become such a worrier over this sort of thing? She supposed the answer was sitting right next to her.

Natasha chewed on her bottom lip, glancing at Steve out of the corner of her eye. A few seconds passed and then, feeling her gaze, he turned his head in her direction.

She wasn't really sure which one of them leaned forward first—if there even was a _first_, or if it was just an automatic response of their bodies. The sounds of the movie completely drowned out behind her as Steve got closer, his body twisting to face hers. He touched her arm, fingers brushing delicately against her skin, traveling up slowly from her forearm to her shoulder and back down again. Natasha's breath caught in her throat, and her lips parted.

Steve was no more than an inch or two from her, breath fanning lightly over her face as he leaned in even closer. His fingers had clasped gently around hers, thumb brushing little strokes across the back of her hand. His scent mingled with that of hotel bar soap, and she could hardly breathe with him this close, warmth radiating off his body, enveloping her.

Their lips were a breath away from touching.

He leaned in—and they both jolted apart when a ringing erupted between them.

"Fuck, sorry," Steve muttered softly as he pulled back.

It took Natasha a second to figure out it was Steve's phone alarm. She scooted a little further from him as he dug around in the pocket of his sweatpants, finally managing to grab the phone and shut it off.

He looked at her, and she sucked in a breath, sitting up a little straighter as she turned back to the movie playing on the table. But she couldn't focus on anything now, except for Steve next to her.

"I think I'm gonna head back to bed for a little while," she said, pushing the blanket off and standing up from the couch.

"Yeah, okay," Steve replied quietly. She could feel his eyes on her, but she just turned and headed into the bedroom.

She crawled into bed, and a few moments later heard the noise of the movie shut off. She exhaled slowly, shutting her eyes, pretty sure it would be impossible for her to fall asleep.

-:-

Natasha laid in bed for a while before falling asleep. She woke, just before nine, pleasantly surprised that she'd even been able to get a little more sleep. Sitting up, she scanned the room and saw no sign of Steve. She exhaled, grateful. She fully intended to ignore what had happened between them just a couple hours ago, but she needed a minute to freshen up and compose herself before that happened.

She went into the bathroom and changed into jeans and a plain white tee before staring at her blonde hair in the mirror. She touched the ends. Steve had told her that she looked nice with the blonde, and though she missed her red, after some time with it, she decided she didn't hate the blonde. It was different, and not entirely her, but…she sort of liked it. Smiling a little to herself, she pulled it half up.

She finished getting ready before heading out into the sitting area of the suite. Steve was on the couch, back against one of the armrests with his legs stretched out, sketchbook and pencil in hand. "Hey," she greeted as he shifted, turning so she could sit down on the other end of the couch.

"Hey," he echoed, finishing up the lines he was working on before flipping his sketchbook closed and setting it on the coffee table in front of them. There was nothing different about his demeanor, no hint that he was upset or angry or feeling anything at all about their almost-kiss earlier that morning. "What's the plan for today?"

She shrugged. "I don't know." It was the truth. She hadn't planned on them having a whole weekend free. "Any thoughts?"

He shook his head. "Not really."

They were both quiet for a moment, looking at each other. Then Natasha said, "Do you want to go on one last scout around the city? See if anything has popped up overnight?"

"Definitely," Steve agreed automatically, already moving.

They changed up their route from the night before, but still hit the major spots that they thought there would be activity in. They did a quick pass by the alley where they'd been attacked and their previous hotel, but didn't see anything out of the ordinary. They weren't tailed all morning either. Finally, some time after one, they decided to call it.

They stopped for lunch, and while they chatted easily, and Natasha could feel herself starting to relax about the whole thing, she could tell Steve was still a little bit on edge. "I think we can relax, Steve."

They were eating outside, and he scanned the people around them before his gaze settled back on her. She watched as he visibly tried to relax, his shoulders losing some of their stiffness. "I know," he sighed. "It's just strange, dropping our guard."

"Well, we're not dropping our guard completely," she pointed out, taking a bite of her currywurst. "But it doesn't seem like anyone is after us at the moment, so we should try to take advantage of that."

"Yeah…"

Natasha stared at him for a moment. She finished chewing the last bite of her lunch. She wiped her hands then stood up. "Come on, let's go."

"Where're we going?"

"Anywhere but here" she said as he stood too, pushing his chair in. "You're brooding, and you need something to take your mind off things."

"I'm not brooding," he argued as they threw away their trash and started walking down the street.

She just gave a little laugh. "Whatever you say, Rogers."

They spent the next couple hours trying to be regular people. They saw some of the sights. Natasha had been in Berlin a couple of times before the events of last year, but it was nice to actually enjoy the city. Steve told her stories about the war as they walked, recounting the headlines and radio talks about the war before he'd joined up, telling her how badly it had made him want to be a part of the fight. There were a few moments where she could tell he was weighed down by that familiar sadness whenever he talked about his past, but for the most part, he seemed glad to be able to just talk, and have her listen without any judgement.

They did some shopping—Natasha found a few new tops and a jacket, and Steve stocked up on some more plain tees.

"Mine keep mysteriously disappearing," Steve said playfully, a twinkle in his eye as he gave her a knowing look.

"I have no idea what you're talking about," she replied straight-faced, before giving him a wicked grin.

That made him laugh, and her heart swelled in her chest to see it.

At one point, they were walking past a shop that Natasha didn't even consider going into until Steve pulled her in. She was about to ask him what they were doing until he pointed to a vest on a mannequin.

"What about that one?" he asked. "I know you've been looking for a little something different to wear, to disguise your suit a little more…"

She looked at the vest. The mannequin was wearing slim cargo pants to match the vest, but she didn't really need those. The vest, on the other hand, would fit great over her suit. The suit had been sitting pretty much unused at the bottom of her duffle, her gauntlets and other such things stowed in a backpack along with Steve's similar items. He'd pulled out his suit a couple times, but hadn't really taken to wearing it much yet. The last time he'd had it out, she'd woken in the middle of the night to find him sitting on the floor with it in his lap, the star torn off. He'd still been pulling himself out of that low point he'd been in, and ripping off that symbol drove home the point that he'd essentially dropped the mantel of Captain America.

"It's perfect," she said, looking on the rack and grabbing one in her size.

She left the store excited, and she was sure Steve could tell, because when she looked up at him, he was smiling too.

It was close after six when they got back. Just a quick stop to drop off their shopping bags before they found somewhere to go for dinner. Once they were back in the room, Steve went into the bathroom, and Natasha started organizing her duffle so she could put the new things she'd gotten away more easily. She'd made a mess of the bag yesterday, so everything was just balled up and thrown in sporadically if it wasn't still on the floor.

When she pulled out Steve's bloodied shirt from yesterday, she froze.

They still hadn't burned it, and she'd forgotten that she'd just shoved it in with her stuff when they were leaving their previous hotel. She held the shirt gingerly in between her fingers, the dried blood dark against the gray fabric.

She swallowed thickly, gut twisting.

Her nightmare flashed through her mind, the image of Steve on the ground, _dead_, the pool of blood around his head spreading, nearly soaking her jeans where she kneeled down by him.

"Hey—"

She jolted as Steve touched her arm, appearing behind her. She hadn't even heard him.

"Hey, hey," he repeated, more soothingly as he took in her startled appearance. His eyes quickly scanned over her face, his hands reaching forward to steady her. "You okay?"

Natasha nodded, swallowed again. "Yeah, I'm fine."

Steve's eyes dropped to the ruined shirt in her hands. He stared at it for a moment, but didn't say anything about it. Instead, he gave her a small smile. "I was just gonna come tell you I've healed enough. I could use some help cutting the stitches out. We'll get dinner, and then I think there's a hot tub downstairs with your name on it."

She blinked, and then smiled at him. "Yeah, okay. I'll be right there."

Steve headed back into the bathroom, and Natasha grabbed one of the plastic bags from shopping. She dumped the new clothes into her duffle and then took Steve's old bloodied shirt and wrapped it up in the plastic bag, tucking it into the far corner of her duffle. She'd remember to burn it when they got back to the quinjet in a couple days.

She followed Steve into the bathroom and washed her hands while Steve took off his shirt. He'd already gotten their first aid kit out and had everything ready that she needed. Considering the bathroom counter was big enough, she moved the first aid kit and toiletries to her side and told him to sit next to the sink. He did as she asked, watching her as she quietly set to work.

If she didn't know how him, or how well the serum worked, she would've said that it was impossible that he was shot just yesterday morning. Roughly thirty-six hours and the serum had already closed the wounds up. Though red and still scabbed over, the area both on his front and back was less inflamed and puffy. Natasha carefully cut the stitches out and was happy to see there was no spotting of blood. The wounds held together on their own, even as Steve experimentally stretched, twisting his torso slowly in either direction.

Natasha cleaned up, locking their first aid kit back up before turning to wash her hands again.

"Okay, Nat, what's going on with you?"

She shut the water and dried off her hands, turning to look at him. "What do you mean?"

"Don't do that, don't shut me out." He gave a small sigh, grabbing his shirt and tugging it on. "You've been acting weird ever since I got shot."

"I'm fine—"

"You're not," he insisted, hopping down from the counter to stand in front of her. "I know something's bothering you. I just want you to talk to me."

She ground her teeth together, putting the towel down and avoiding his gaze.

"A year ago," Steve started gently, "I was bottling everything up, but you didn't give up on trying to get me to open up about it. I was being stubborn, but talking—it helped. I just want to help you if I can."

Natasha knew he was right. She should just talk to him. They had a weekend to relax and enjoy themselves, but she really hadn't been able to because she'd been dwelling on the past.

And like he'd read her mind, Steve gave a little shrug and said, "We aren't going to have any fun the rest of the weekend if you're brooding."

Natasha matched his playful smile, narrowing her eyes just a little. "You brood, remember. I don't_._"

"Mmhmm," he hummed before his expression turned serious again. "But I know something's bothering you. So, please, just talk to me."

She swallowed, the smile falling from her face. She took a breath, and asked, "How much do you remember from D.C.?"

Steve's brow furrowed. "What do you mean?"

"The Helicarriers going down, you getting hurt—what do you remember?"

He blew out a breath. "Not much, I guess. I mean, I remember taking the Helicarriers down and my fight with Bucky and all that, but in between that and waking up in the hospital is a little fuzzy." He paused, eyes distant like he was picturing it in front of him, the events of that day. "I remember falling from the Helicarrier, and then hitting the water and going under. I know Bucky pulled me out because I saw a hand—a metal hand, right before I blacked out. After that, a few flashes here and there, but mostly just voices. And then I woke up in the hospital and Sam was there."

She found herself staring at a spot on the wall behind him, voice hushed as she said, "After the Helicarriers went down, I'm the one who found you on the beach."

"You've never told me that," he replied, equally quiet.

Natasha dragged her gaze back to him. She could still see him on the beach, bloody, barely breathing. She still dreamt about it. "When I first saw you…I was still far enough away that—I thought you were dead for a minute. Your breaths were so shallow, and you were bleeding and your face was cut up, and when I got close to you," she sucked in a breath, "I thought you were dead, and I don't think I've ever been more scared in my life."

Steve was watching her silently, features mostly passive, save for the tiniest of frowns pulling down the corners of his mouth, half-hidden by his facial hair.

"I was so used to you getting back up after you got knocked down," she pressed on. "Which, it's pretty hard to knock you down in the first place. So, seeing you on the beach like that…it scared the shit out of me. It was the first time I'd really realized how afraid I was to lose you. I don't really think I knew before then just how important you were to me and then…" she trailed off for a moment, not quite looking at him. "And of course, you're fine and everything turned out fine, but last year—"

"What happened last year?"

She licked her lips, meeting his eyes. "After Bucky got out in Berlin and you guys disappeared, Ross was spewing his bullshit, and basically said that he would issue the order to take you out."

Steve's brows shot up. "He said that?"

She nodded. "Not quite so directly, but we all knew what he meant. He said that if it came down to it, if he saw you as a threat, he would eliminate you."

"My god." He shook his head a little.

"He would do it, too," she told him. "After Bruce's experiments with the gamma radiation went wrong and he became the Hulk, Ross tried to have him killed. I have no doubt that he'd do the same to you. Which is why—I just don't want anything to happen to you. You getting shot just freaked me out, I guess, because I just keep thinking about you getting hurt or about Ross getting to you, and I—"

"Hey, hey, hey," Steve soothed, stepping forward and gently grabbing her wrists. "That's not gonna happen."

"You don't know that."

"You're right, I don't." he shrugged, hands still around her wrists, skin warm against hers. "For all we know Ross could be outside our door right now waiting to break it down."

She leveled a look at him. "Not funny."

"What I do know," he continued, ignoring her comment with a crooked grin, "is that you've got my back. And I'm okay."

"Steve,"

"Feel this," he said, letting go of one of her wrists. He used his free hand to lift up his shirt, and before Natasha could even question what he was doing, he guided her hand to his torso, until her fingers gently brushed against his half-healed wound. She was unable to tear her eyes away from his as his thumb drew little circles across the back of her hand, her own fingers tentatively touching his tender skin. "See? I'm okay. Doesn't even hurt that much anymore."

"You're not invincible, you know," she whispered.

"No," he conceded. "But like you said, takes a lot to knock me down. And Ross throwing threats around certainly isn't going to do the job."

Natasha let her hand slip from his grasp and he let her go, letting his shirt fall back into place. She shifted her gaze down, biting the inside of her lip.

"I'm sorry that I worried you by getting hurt," Steve said after a moment, and she lifted her eyes up again. "I didn't know that it was bothering you so much."

"It's not like I don't know that you're fine," she told him. "I know that you're okay, that it's not serious. And I'm not blaming you for getting hurt—it happens. I just…I guess what I'm trying to say with all of this is that I can't lose you."

The confession hung in the air for a moment, and Natasha almost stepped back, to put some distance between the two of them. She wasn't quite sure when they'd gotten so close again, but Steve was only a few inches from her.

His eyes flicked down to her mouth for a fraction of a second and a tendril of warmth slipped its way down her spine. He leaned towards her, and almost without thinking, she shifted, tilting a little bit away from him. "Thank you," she said, breaking the air between them. "For listening. I'm sorry for the way I've been acting."

"It's okay," Steve replied, clearing his throat and taking half a step back.

"So, uh," she started, trying for a smile to lighten the mood, "What are you hungry for?"

-:-

Natasha felt lighter as they walked to dinner. She hadn't quite realized how much her worries had been weighing her down. But talking had helped. And now she felt like she could actually enjoy their down time.

They wandered, arms bumping together occasionally as they tried to pick a place that looked good. They were walking down a slightly less busy street full of restaurants. The night was warm enough that plenty of people were outside, eating and drinking and laughing. Natasha found her gaze wandering over to a restaurant playing music, the sound spilling into the open air. People were seated at tables formed to create a semi-circle, the middle space made clear for a few people that were up and dancing. The music, coming from a band off to the side, was lively, the patrons dancing moving in time with big smiles on their faces.

Natasha grabbed Steve's arm loosely. "Hey, how about here?"

He looked at the restaurant, and she saw the hint of a smile under his beard as he looked at her and said, "Looks great."

They got one of the few remaining tables outside and ordered a couple beers. It wouldn't do anything for Steve, of course. About the only thing they'd discovered that was capable of affecting him was the Asgardian mead Thor brought sometimes when he came to Earth. They talked and watched the dancing while waiting for their food. At one point, she caught Steve looking at her with a bemused expression on his face.

"What?" she asked.

He chuckled, lifting up his left hand and wiggling his ring finger, still hosting the fake bands they'd been wearing. "What are people going to think, you out to dinner with a married man?"

"Wha—oh." Natasha looked down at her own hand, bare of rings. "Must've forgotten to put them back on after taking your stitches out."

Steve _tsk_-ed her playfully. "You know if just wanted a divorce, all you had to do was say so."

She couldn't contain her smile. "You know, even if you were married and I wasn't, it's completely reasonable for us to be getting dinner together. It's called friendship, idiot."

Steve just laughed.

"But if you're so concerned," she continued, smiling and holding out her hand, "why don't you just hand that ring over, dear."

His eyes were twinkling as he locked his gaze with hers, not even looking down at his hand as he slipped the ring off and dropped it into her palm. She only broke his stare in order to see what she was doing as she tucked the ring into her purse. And she had to admit, it felt better, not having them on. It could just be the two of them. No rings, no act. Just her and Steve.

When she looked back up, he was still watching her, lips quirked up underneath his beard, eyes bright. She studied him for a moment, as he studied her, letting it settle into her chest that they were here. Every moment, every decision, had brought them here—as partners, as friends, as that something more that she'd been trying so hard to deny.

That day alone, Steve had nearly kissed her twice, and both times she had pulled away. Thinking about it now, those almost kisses, she was a little glad, but mostly frustrated with herself. She knew what it felt like to kiss him, but it was only because of that sudden, silly undercover kiss on that escalator in D.C. And she'd be lying if she said she didn't want to know what it felt like to actually kiss him, to touch him, to have his hands on her body, wanting her in the same way she wanted him.

Their friends were right. Enough was enough. Everything had changed so much for them, between them. Why deny themselves any longer?

Natasha opened her mouth to say something when the waiter showed up with their food. Steve thanked the man and ordered them another round of beers. Natasha swallowed, and dug into her meal. They ate, chatting or watching the band in between. When they finished eating, Steve stared at the band, at the people dancing for a long time, brows slightly furrowed.

Then, "Peggy was the last person I talked to."

He was still staring ahead at the dancers. Natasha watched him carefully. It took him a long minute, but then he turned his head to look at her. "Before I crashed the plane, I mean. You might've already known that, since it was in the exhibit about—about me. But I've never told anyone that out loud before."

"Thank you for telling me," she whispered.

Steve stared off at the people dancing again, and Natasha wondered if he was seeing them, but not really _seeing _them. She wondered if, in his eyes, they'd been replaced by visions of his past, of the future that he'd never gotten. "I told her that I'd need a rain check on our first date." A bittersweet smile. "I was going to take her dancing."

Natasha smiled a little to herself at that. She could picture it, Steve dolled up in his 40s finery, Peggy Carter sporting a red lip and dress to match. They would've been quite the pair. A part of her ached for Steve, knowing he'd never gotten that with Peggy.

"I've never actually danced before."

Natasha started. Her eyes widened as he turned to look at her. "Seriously?"

Steve shrugged one shoulder. "Nope."

"You've never—no. There's no way. You've had to have danced before." She wracked her brain, trying to think of the undercover missions they'd done at formal affairs. "What about that mission in Algiers?"

He shook his head, looking a little bemused. "That was all you. I had a tux on, but I never stepped foot on the dance floor."

"Twenty-thirteen, that mission in Vienna?"

A chuckle, and another shake of his head.

"What about in Milan that same year?"

"I was on the upper level monitoring. That STRIKE guy, Powell, danced with you."

She made a face. "Oh yeah. Never liked him. Should've known he was Hydra."

Steve gave a dry laugh, but gave her an apologetic look. "I know. I hated putting you with him too. I didn't like him either."

Natasha settled back in her chair. "You've really never danced with anyone? Not even a little?"

He shook his head again. "Peggy was surprised, too."

"And what did you tell her?"

"That I was waiting for the right partner." He leveled his gaze at her, and something in her stirred. And the implication was there, sitting heavy in the air between them. Peggy might've been that person, his perfect partner, but now he was looking at her like she was the only thing that mattered.

"And you think that person is me?" She asked quietly.

"You have been for a long time."

Natasha ignored the way her heart beat against her rib cage, even as her cheeks warmed at his admission. His unwavering gaze, the steadiness of his words, it took her by surprise, even though it definitely shouldn't have. _Two times, Natasha_, she reminded herself. _He's almost kissed you two times today_.

And maybe be could sense that hesitation in her again, because he said, gently, "Dance with me."

She quirked an eyebrow at him. "Didn't you just say you don't know how?"

He smiled broadly at her. "Yeah, I meant I want you to teach me."

Natasha bit her lip, debating.

Then the band encouraged patrons to gather on the dance floor as they started playing a slower song. Steve cocked his head, crooked smile on his face. "That sounds like our cue." He stood, holding his hand out to her.

Relenting, and not letting herself think too hard about it, Natasha took his hand and stood, letting him lead her to the dance floor. The little square of space was pretty full, other couples having joined the dancers already on the floor, but they found a little spot along one of the edges.

Steve's hand found her waist, slowly sliding around to the small of her back to pull her closer to him. She shivered at his touch, at the warmth of it, even through the layers of her clothing. She rested her hand on his shoulder, before slipping her free hand into his, fingers intertwining.

Natasha tipped her head back to look at him. She wasn't wearing heels, and at this proximity, Steve towered nearly a foot above her. Her eyes wandered down to his mouth for a fraction of a second before she looked back up. "And then just," she started softly as they began moving, "follow my lead."

The first few steps were rough, and she could tell he was overthinking it as they moved within their small space. But she squeezed his hand, and watched him take a breath, shoulders relaxing. A few more steps and his pace matched hers, feet moving more smoothly across the dance floor.

She smiled at him. "Not too bad, soldier."

"It's easy with you." His hand pressed a little more firmly against the small of her back, and warmth seeped down her spine, breath hitching in her throat. "You're a good teacher."

"I don't know about that, but like you said," her throat bobbed lightly, "it's easy with you."

-:-

Natasha's blood was still humming in her veins when they got back to the hotel. It wasn't so much from the beer, as it was the dancing, the spending time with him. They'd gotten up and danced to every slow song the band played for over an hour, even joining in on the more upbeat dancing once Steve was comfortable enough. They'd smiled and laughed and it was the best time she'd had in a long time. The whole world had slipped away for a while, and it had just been her and Steve in a little restaurant in the heart of Berlin, dancing like they hadn't a single thing to worry about.

During the last song they danced to, with Steve holding her in his arms, actually taking the lead in their dance, Natasha had looked up at him and known. She didn't want to call it love—not yet—but she'd known that it was time to stop denying herself what was right in front of her. Even if it did scare her a little bit, that first, tentative step into something new, something more.

She slid the keycard into the lock, hyperaware of Steve right behind her. The door clicked open and she walked inside, moving to turn the lamps on in the sitting room, hearing him lock the door behind them. He started taking his jacket off, and she used the lull to head into the bathroom. She relieved herself, then took a moment to look at herself in the mirror as she washed and dried her hands.

The blonde hair was still so new to her, and in some ways, it was a stranger staring back at her. She lifted a hand, tucking it behind her ear. Different, but not necessarily in a bad way. She smiled a little to herself, noting the brightness in her eyes, the slight rosiness to her cheeks. She took a breath, and left the bathroom. Steve was in the bedroom when she walked out, sleeves of his white Henley pushed up. He'd turned the far bedside lamp on, casting the room in a warm yellow light. She watched as he draped his jacket carefully next to his bag before lifting his head towards her. He smiled softly as she approached, stopping two feet in front of him.

"Thank you for tonight," he said, taking a step towards her. "It meant a lot."

She bobbed her head. "I had a really good time."

She tried to ignore the feeling of her heart pounding in her chest, the warmth rising to her cheeks as Steve took another step closer. He stopped half a foot away, waiting. She licked her lips, lifting her chin so she could see him better. Steve's eyes flickered down to her mouth, before he slowly dragged his gaze back up, meeting her stare. She gave the tiniest, almost imperceptible nod, and then they were closing the gap between them together.

One of Steve's hands found her waist, gently pulling her to him. He bent down the same time she reached up on her toes, noses bumping, mouths a breath away from meeting. She grasped onto his upper arm with one hand, other winding around his neck, sliding through his hair, still kept fairly short despite the beard.

The first kiss was soft, sweet. A press of his lips against her own.

And it felt like coming home.

Even though her heart was racing, for the first time in a long time, it also felt settled in her chest, like it was right where it belonged. Beating next to his.

She pulled back an inch or two, just far enough to look at him. Steve scanned her face, lips barely parted. His hands on her waist loosened nearly imperceptibly so, like he was ready and willing to let her step away if that's what she wanted. But Natasha moved both her hands to cup his face, leaning up to kiss him again.

A small noise escaped the back of her throat as he kissed her back, more forcefully this time. The scratch of his beard against her skin was delightful, his hair soft as she slid her fingers through it. His hands around her waist helped keep her on her toes, but she still had to stretch to reach him, and it made her smile a little through their kisses.

He pulled back a little, eyes bright as he looked at her. "What?"

She just shook her head and smiled a little wider. "Nothing."

Natasha moved her hands to his chest, gently pushing him backwards until they reached the bed. He kept his eyes on her the whole time as he sat on the edge of the mattress, the blue of them darker than normal as he watched her follow him, swinging one leg up and over his so she was straddling his lap. A satisfied little thrill travelled its way down her spine when he sucked in a sharp breath as she got settled.

Her heart was still pounding, cheeks flushed, and she wanted nothing more than to kiss him again right that second, but she stopped and just looked at him for a moment, let herself sink into the moment, his presence. She touched his cheek, smoothing her thumb across his jaw.

This man…even without what was currently happening between them, she knew she would follow him to the ends of the earth. As her partner, her friend. As someone she very well knew she was falling in love with—or already had fallen in love with—but wouldn't let herself admit out loud to. She would follow him.

"You're doing it again," Steve whispered, his gaze fond.

She tilted her head a little. "Doing what again?"

"Thinking about something," he answered, paused. "And I can't puzzle out what it is. I've gotten pretty good at reading you, but sometimes…"

Natasha couldn't say what she'd really been thinking about—those words, not yet. It was still too big. So, she smiled and leaned in, a breath away from kissing him again. "I was just thinking about how I haven't told you how much I like the beard."

He blinked, and then broke out into a wide grin, chuckling. "Glad you approve."

Then he was kissing her, and all coherent thought went out the window. It was just her and Steve and the feeling of his mouth on hers, of his hands warm on her body. Her lips parting against his. Steve took the open invitation, nipping at her bottom lip before soothing it away with another breathtaking kiss. Heat shot straight down to the base of her spine. She was short of breath, unable to get enough of him.

Natasha lowered her hands from where she'd wound them around his neck again and skimmed her fingers down the front of his shirt until she reached the bottom. She lifted the edge of the fabric, fingertips grazing the skin right above his belt.

"Natasha," Steve groaned lowly into her mouth, hands flexing against her waist.

She dipped her head and planted a kiss at the base of his throat, where the buttons of his Henley were open. She slipped her hands fully under his shirt, pressing her palms to his abdomen, felt the hard muscles there, felt him move as he took in a breath. Natasha grabbed the hem and started lifting, Steve helping her pull it off and over his head, tossing it somewhere on the floor.

Her eyes wandered over the bared skin of his torso. She'd seen him without a shirt before, but this was different. She could take her time, could make note of every line, every dip between muscles. She first touched the spot where he'd been shot by the Winter Soldier three years ago. For the most part, Steve didn't scar. The serum ensured that. But some of his more serious injuries still left a mark. This particular bullet wound, Natasha couldn't even see it unless she was up close. But she knew where it was—she'd put her hands over it to staunch the bleeding when he was lying on the bank of the Potomac, unconscious.

She moved her hands higher, one skating around his most recent gunshot wound, the other dancing over his ribs. She only stopped when her right hand settled over his heart. She kept it there for a moment, not meeting his eyes. It was ridiculous, but she was a little nervous. They'd spent so long getting to this point, and she didn't want to screw it up. Her walls had come down a long time ago with Steve, but there was still that part of her that was hesitant to let anyone in.

She was thrown from her thoughts when one of Steve's hands reached up to cover hers. With his other hand, he gently cupped her cheek, prompting her to look up at him.

"We don't have to do this if you don't want to," he said earnestly, thumb stroking across her cheekbone.

Natasha gave a little shake of her head. "It's not that. I want this, I want you. I'm just getting stuck in my own head."

"Well," Steve gave her a crooked smile even as his ears turned pink, "if it helps, I'm trying not to do the same. Though more out of nerves than anything. I, um…I haven't actually been with anyone before. Which maybe you already know, and if you didn't—I mean—"

"Hey," she assured him softly. "It's okay. It doesn't bother me. I hope that it's okay that I _have_ been with other people before." She gave him a small, playful smile, repeating what he'd said, "Which maybe you already knew, but…"

"It doesn't bother me, either. I just," he blew out a breath, echoing her earlier thoughts, "I don't wanna screw this up."

Natasha exhaled slowly, leaning into him. "You won't. It's you and me, Steve."

And there was her answer, to all the questions still floating around in her head.

She had meant it—she wanted this, wanted him. But saying it out loud, reminded her to just _be. _To be in the moment, with him, to just let herself feel and let go of any lingering worries.

She kissed him again, rolling her hips a little as she did so. Steve kissed her harder, hands burying themselves in her hair, a low noise slipping past his lips. He kissed her breathless, his hands firm and gentle at the same time as they roamed over her shoulders, down her sides, settling on her waist again. They broke apart long enough for Natasha to pull her own shirt up and over her head, and then his mouth was hot on hers again, hands sliding across her bare back until he reached the edge of her bra.

Natasha touched her forehead to his, their breaths mingling as Steve's hands carefully undid the clasps of her bra. The straps started to fall away from her shoulders and she reached up to fully take the garment off, tossing it amongst the other clothes already on the floor. Steve had also seen her bare-chested—only two or three times and all in the locker room. He'd always been the pinnacle of professionalism, face unchanging, never staring too long. But now he studied her the way she'd studied him.

His hands, calloused, moved up and around her shoulders again, eyes tracing the lines of her body in time with his hands. Down both of her arms, a barely-there touch across the backs of her hands where they rested just above the waistband of his jeans, then back up again. When he got to her shoulders, he touched the scar on her left one, where she'd also been shot three years ago by the Soldier.

He leaned forward and kissed the scar, and Natasha shivered. His planted a line of kisses across her collarbone, before dipping his head lower and pressing his lips right in between her breasts. She inhaled sharply, shifting in his lap. "Steve," she murmured as his hands started to move again, down across her ribs.

He touched her Odessa scar, fingers light against the marred, discolored flesh.

Steve lifted his head, and the look in his eyes knocked the breath out of her. "You're beautiful."

Natasha's chest tightened. She wanted to say something, but the words refused to leave her mouth. She lifted her hands to his face, bringing their mouths together once again. He kissed her until she was dizzy, the heat from his hands, his body, soaking into her, setting her on fire. He kissed down her neck, all the way down until his mouth was closing over one of her peaked nipples.

She sighed, fingers threading through his hair again. There was the briefest moment of uncertainty from him as his hands stilled against her skin, but then he regained his confidence. He was thorough, both hands moving across her torso as his mouth and tongue spent time on her breast. He switched sides, and she gasped when she felt the slightest bit of teeth, quickly soothed over with his tongue. Natasha rolled her hips against his and his lap jumped beneath her in response.

"_Steve_," she breathed, hands tightening in his hair. She liked the pace they'd set so far, taking their time exploring each other, but she also wanted _more_. She wanted to be closer to him, wanted his hands and mouth elsewhere on her body. "Please."

His tongue swirled around her nipple once more before he pulled back, mouth kiss-swollen. He was panting a little, breath fanning lightly over her face. He grinned. "So polite."

She huffed out a little laugh, leaning forward to whisper against his lips. "And you're a _tease_."

"Mm," he hummed in agreement.

"Let's see how smug you are in a minute."

"Oh, yeah?"

She gave him a quick peck, pulling out of his reach just as he leaned in for more. Natasha slid off his lap, stepping away from him. She undid her jeans, pushing them slowly over her hips and down her legs, Steve's chest rising and falling heavily as he watched her. She stripped until she just stood before him in her lacy underwear. His eyes roved over her, hands gripping the covers like it was taking everything in him not to reach for her.

She stepped towards him as he kicked off his socks and shoes. He went for his belt next, but Natasha placed her hands over his, lowering herself to her knees in front of him.

"Nat." His voice was hoarse, and she watched his throat bob as he swallowed.

Gently, she pushed his hands out of the way and worked on getting his belt and front of his jeans undone. She grabbed his pants and underwear at the same time, tugging. He lifted his hips so she could more easily pull the clothes off. It took both of them, with a little bit of laughter, to untangle his jeans from around his ankles, but then the clothes were tossed off to the side and he was fully naked in front of her.

She looked up at him from under her lashes. He was watching her intently, hands braced against the mattress. She set her left hand against his thigh, and then reached forward with her other and closed it around the base of his cock. Steve groaned lowly, head tipping back when she moved to lick a long stripe up the underside, before wrapping her lips around the tip. She swirled her tongue, licking and sucking. She hummed in satisfaction as his hands fisted in the blankets covering the bed.

Natasha took her mouth off him with a small pop, pumping her hand up and down his cock. She watched his chest rise and fall heavily, eyes closed, chin tipped up. She worked her hand a little faster up and down his length before closing her mouth around him again.

"_Fuck_," he swore under his breath, voice hoarse, "_Natasha._"

She smiled as she took her mouth off him again, and with a few more quick motions of her hand, he was gone, groaning as he came.

She stood, planting a kiss against his panting mouth. "Hold that thought," she whispered, before heading into the bathroom to dampen a hand towel.

When she made her way back from the bathroom, he was laying on his back, turning his head to look at her as she walked towards him. His eyes tracked her movements, watched the sway of her hips. He raised himself up onto his elbows as she kneeled on the bed next to him, swiping the damp cloth across his abdomen, cleaning him up quick.

When she was done, Steve gently took the towel from her hands and tossed it aside. Before she could say anything, he was ducking in to kiss her again, tongue sweeping against the seam of her lips. She sighed against his mouth, her desire coiling at the base of her spine, warmth seeping out into her limbs. Steve broke away for a moment so he could shift higher up onto the bed, resting against the pillows stacked against the headboard. Natasha took the opportunity to finally tug her panties off, slipping them down and over her hips as Steve watched, eyes brimming with desire.

He was already halfway hard again as she settled over his lap, folds rubbing against his cock. Steve leaned up, wrapping an arm around her lower back. He pulled her to him, kissing her over and over again until she was breathing just as hard as he was. She rolled her hips until he was fully hard beneath her. She was wet and desperate for them to be even closer than they already were. Natasha started to raise herself on her knees, when Steve's hands pressed firmly against her thighs.

"Wait, Nat, don't we—" he stopped himself, meeting her eyes.

She knew what he was about ask—about whether they needed protection or not. Which, it could never hurt, even though she knew they were both clean. But that wasn't his main concern, and she knew that for just a moment it had slipped his mind that she couldn't get pregnant.

She'd told him what they'd done to her in the Red Room about six months after Bruce had left, disappeared, died—they weren't sure anymore. She'd had particularly bad nightmares that night and found herself at his door. When he'd let her climb into bed with him, she'd let everything spill out. There in the dark, it was easier to tell him. And when he'd pulled her into his arms after she was done, he didn't make her feel pitied, or like she was anything less than she'd ever been. _You didn't deserve what they did to you_, is what he told her, whispered against her hair as she tried to ignore the tears soaking into the front of his shirt.

No, he'd never made her feel like less, or like a monster for not being able to have kids. He just made her feel like Natasha, who was beautiful no matter what.

And as Steve held her now, kissed her softly, she still felt like that. _Beautiful_.

"I'm sorry, Nat," he murmured, and she could tell that he really did feel bad for bringing it up. "I'm sorry. Forget I said anything."

"It's okay," she whispered back. "It's a valid question. But I think we'll be okay. That is, unless you want me to get up and go all the way over to my bag to grab a condom—"

"No, no," he laughed against her mouth. "I think we'll be okay without."

She laughed a little, kissing him once more before pushing lightly against his chest. He got the message and laid back against the pillows. Natasha pushed up on her knees, reaching down between them to grab his cock as she positioned herself over him. She still had one hand against his chest, steadying herself, and Steve slipped a hand over hers, fingers tightening as she slowly lowered herself down onto him.

"_Oh_,"

All the breath was pushed from her body as she sank to the hilt on top of him. She gasped, stilling for a moment while she adjusted to the fullness of having him inside her.

It had been a while since she'd had sex with someone, and Steve, well. Whether it was the serum or him, he was well-endowed. He had gone still as well, until slowly he started sliding his hands up across her thighs. Natasha inhaled deeply, then started moving. She pushed herself up, then sank down slowly, fingers curling against his chest where he held them. There was the slightest flush across his chest as she did it again, slowly fucking herself on his cock, quiet noises escaping past her lips.

She had just closed her eyes, head tipping back when suddenly they were moving. She let out a surprised gasp as Steve wrapped his arms around her, turning them over so she was on her back. He was smiling as he kissed her, and she giggled against his mouth. Her laughter quickly broke off into a moan as he pulled almost all the way out of her and then thrust back in, a little more quickly than the pace she'd set before.

"_Steve_." Her back arched as his movements started steadying out into that quicker pace.

He was braced on his forearms above her, his body heat enveloping her. Everything was him—surrounding her, filling her up, all him, him, _him_.

She gripped one of his arms, the other sliding around his shoulder, her short nails digging into the skin as he sank into her fully, another cry falling from her lips. He leaned in to kiss her cheeks, across her jaw, to bury his face in her neck.

Heat was building at the base of her spine, and she knew she was close. Just a little more—

"Oh, god," she gasped as Steve started fucking her a little harder, a little faster. "_Right there_—please don't stop."

Steve kept up the pace, breathing hard as he tipped his forehead against hers. She reached a hand between them, rubbing at her clit, her other hand gripping at his shoulder. She cried out, arching up into him as release barreled down her spine. Steve held onto her as she came, working her through her orgasm. His movements became a little unsteady, and then seconds later he was falling over that same edge, groan rumbling from his chest as he spilled inside of her.

A few more slow thrusts, and then he was pulling out of her. Natasha sighed contentedly, still breathing a little hard as Steve kissed the tip of her nose, the corners of her mouth, until finally he sealed his lips over hers in a sweet kiss.

"Mm," she hummed, smiling, "Yeah, I think I could get used to this."

He chuckled. "Did you need anything?"

"A glass of water maybe,"

He nodded, then ducked in for one more quick kiss, before he scooted out of bed. Natasha watched him as he bent down to pick his bower briefs up off the floor.

"No need to get covered up on my account," she teased, roving her eyes across the toned muscles of his back, the curve of his ass.

Steve gave her a crooked smile as he turned. "Enjoying the view."

"Immensely so."

He laughed and headed into the bathroom to grab some water. Natasha climbed out of bed, too, found Steve's Henley on the floor and tugged it over her head before grabbing a clean pair of panties from her bag. Steve came back out and handed her a plastic cup with water and she gratefully took it, swallowing down two thirds of it in one go.

"Thank you," she said, setting her cup down on the nightstand.

She excused herself to the bathroom for a minute, and when she was done, she found Steve in the bed, covers pushed back, waiting for her. She smiled as she padded over and climbed in next to him.

They'd been sleeping with so much space between them the past few days, and it felt incredible to just be able to curl up next to him. Steve had a soft smile on his face as she settled in. He switched the light off and then laid down next to her, wrapping an arm around her and pulling her close.

Natasha fell asleep almost instantly, wrapped in his warmth, her heart utterly content.

-:-

When she woke, Natasha blinked her eyes against the dim gray light of early morning filtering in through the curtains on the windows. No nightmares had disturbed her, no restlessness throughout the night, only the same warm arms she was currently wrapped up in. She smiled a little to herself as she slowly shifted around in Steve's arms so she could look at him. He twitched a little, but she managed to get situated without waking him.

For a moment, she just looked at his face, peaceful in sleep. She rested a hand gently on his bare chest, right over his heart. This man, this beautiful, brave, resilient man in front of her…she bit her lip. _I love you_, she thought to herself. And it was true—she knew it was. Even before last night, it had become impossible to picture her life without him. All that they'd been through in the past five years, the good and the bad, she wouldn't change a second of it if it meant that she was here, now, lying in his embrace.

_I love you_.

She almost whispered the words aloud, her lips parting to do so, when Steve's eyes slowly fluttered open. He blinked against the early morning light, same as she had. And when he registered that it was her in front of him, half naked against him, his face broke out into a sleepy smile.

"Ma'am," he greeted, voice rough from sleep.

She laughed quietly, unable to wipe the smile from her face, "Hi."

Steve leaned in and kissed her softly, his arms circling around her slowly. Natasha decided that she could get used to this, too—mornings spent in bed with Steve pressing lazy kisses to her lips, her jaw, the tip of her nose.

His beard scratched against her cheek as he moved to kiss the sensitive spot right below her ear, and Natasha gave a soft sigh, blood heating in her veins. Having woken up a little, Steve's movements became more purposeful, one of his legs settling between her own as he slowly turned her onto her back. She ran her hands over his shoulders and across his back, trailing over the soft skin and solid muscle. He kissed her mouth again, tongue tracing along her bottom lip.

She whimpered as he pulled away, tracing kisses down her neck, pulling the hem of her borrowed t-shirt aside so he could nip at her collarbone, soothing away the sting with his tongue.

"You know," she breathed, running a hand through his hair, "we never did make it down to the hot tub. I bought a new swimsuit and everything."

Steve chuckled, lifting his head to look at her. "We could go now, if you'd like."

"And leave this bed?"

He shrugged, playful smile on his lips. She knew if she asked, he would go. But the way he was holding onto her told Natasha enough about what he was really thinking.

She licked her lips. "On the other hand, it's awfully early. Who knows if it's even open yet."

"Mm, good point." He gave her quick kiss. "Alternatively, I'm pretty sure the bathtub is big enough for the two of us."

Natasha grinned against his mouth. "I like the way you think."

Twenty minutes later, Natasha was soaking in the steaming water, Steve across from her, legs bumping together as they got comfortable. She reached up to tie her hair into a bun on top of her head, before leaning over to grab the washcloth and soap she'd set next to the tub.

She could feel Steve's eyes on her as she squeezed body wash into the washcloth. She lifted her head to give him a look. "What?"

Steve just gave a little shake of his head, half smiling. "Nothing. Just trying to commit this to memory."

To draw her later, he meant. But she gave a little tilt of her head and teased, "Take a picture, Rogers—it'll last longer."

He chuckled quietly, the surface of the water trembling as he shifted. Natasha washed her arms and upper body. She didn't miss the way Steve's gaze dragged down as she ran the sudsy washcloth over her breasts. The hot water had thoroughly warmed her through, but now a different kind of heat traveled down her spine. She smiled a little to herself, then threw the washcloth at a still-distracted Steve.

He made a quiet _oof _noise as the wet cloth smacked him in the face, and then it was her turn to laugh. "Eyes forward, soldier."

He laughed with her as he started scrubbing himself down while she rinsed the soap off her body, turning the bath water into an opaque, milky color. Now Natasha watched him as he finished cleaning himself, then rinsing off as she had done.

"I'm sorry," she blurted.

Steve stopped. He'd been wringing out the washcloth, and now carefully draped it over the side of the tub. When he looked up at her, his brows were furrowed in confusion. "For what?"

She breathed in through her nose and then exhaled sharply. "For dragging this out so long. Or if it ever felt like I was stringing you along. For yesterday morning," which felt like a lifetime ago, "when you tried to kiss me. I shouldn't have avoided you like I did."

"Nat, it's okay."

She knew from his gaze, the earnestness there, that he meant it. He wasn't mad, he didn't blame her for waiting so long to admit how she felt. "I know. But you still deserve an explanation, and I want to be honest with you."

His eyes softened, and he leaned back against the opposite side of the tub. "I'm all ears."

The hot water had relaxed her, but she could feel herself closing off a little bit again. It was habit. It didn't matter that she was naked in front of him—it was the baring of her heart that made her feel vulnerable. But she'd meant it. She wanted to be honest with Steve, wanted to tell him everything.

There was a slight pressure as Steve nudged his leg against hers, and she felt grounded again. Steady enough to begin.

"They filled our heads with a lot of propaganda and bullshit in the Red Room, and one of the things that they repeated over and over was that we weren't allowed to have relationships—familial, romantic, or otherwise. We—I was told that I wasn't allowed to love anyone, not only that I _shouldn't _love anyone, but that I _couldn't_. I wasn't capable of that, because of who—what they were turning me into. They told me that no one would ever love me in return. And when you're young and impressionable, that's the stuff that sticks in the brain.

"By the time Clint was sent after me, I was at such a low point in my life that when I first met him and Fury, I hated them. I think it was just myself I hated, but I took it out on Clint, mostly. Called him a coward for not killing me, when really, he'd been a hell of a lot braver than I was, being able to see something in me worth saving. The point is that, for the longest time, I didn't care about many people, because that's what I was taught. I think my trainers saw that I cared _too much_, so they pushed me extra hard to let go of those kinds of attachments. And when I finally did start to let go of that training—that indoctrination, and let myself make friends and make a home at SHIELD, it was startling to have someone new come in and disrupt that."

"Me," Steve finished.

"You." She gave him a small smile. "I was so mad at Fury for sticking us together. I thought he was punishing Clint, and punishing me, and really I didn't hate you—you just…you were unexpected. And I was surprised by how much I liked working with you, even if it didn't seem that way at first."

Steve chuckled. "Yeah, you were pretty…_unimpressed _those first couple weeks. But it was the best two weeks."

Her eyebrows rose in surprise. "Seriously? I'm still amazed I managed not to scare you away."

"I don't scare that easy." He shrugged. "But yeah. You weren't looking at me with pity, or starstruck awe, or like I was an alien. A lot of people did that considering _actual _aliens invaded New York. You just, looked at me like I was Steve. And, honestly, it was the best thing for me at the time."

Something in her chest bloomed at the thought—that even in the beginning they had a mutual understanding of each other. That they'd been partners long before they'd started thinking of each other that way.

"Anyway," Steve said, "I interrupted, I'm sorry."

She gave a little bob of her head, trying to collect her thoughts again. "I guess what I'm trying to say, Steve, is that…I've had these feelings for a while, but I spent so long pushing them down or telling myself that they weren't real that, it took me a really long time to admit them. But I should've told you sooner."

"When did you know?" Steve asked gently.

Natasha thought about it for a moment. D.C. was really when she'd started to understand that her feelings for Steve were stronger than just friendship, but at the time she'd been so deep in her denial that she didn't really know if that counted. And then there had been Bruce, and all those complicated feelings, and then finally the year before all the Accords stuff had happened, where it was her and Steve leading the Avengers together.

One night in particular came to mind. As she thought about it now, there was nothing special about the night, per se. It had been a weeknight, she remembered that much, and she'd been up late doing paperwork for a mission they'd run, while also trying to put together training for the next day. Steve had been gone on his own mission with Sam, and while she thought he'd gone to bed, he came in and checked on her.

It had to have been two in the morning, her eyes had been burning from all the reading and staring at the computer, but she'd instantly felt more awake the second Steve had draped a blanket over her shoulders and set a cup of warm decaf in front of her.

She remembered looking at him in that moment, nearly a weeks' worth of stubble on his face, eyes still bright as he asked her how she'd been. The realization had come to her then that she'd missed him. Not just as her partner and fellow leader, but she had missed _him_. Steve. She'd missed his warmth and his smile and his presence at her side and the feeling she got whenever he walked into a room. That night she'd started to let go of that denial, and let herself just _feel_.

"So what you're saying is that you really just love me for my facial hair," Steve mused after she relayed a shorter version of events to him. "I mean you said it yourself, I hadn't shaved then, I've got a beard now. We could test the theory—I can shave right now, see if that changes anything—"

She grabbed his arm, laughing, as he moved to get out of the tub. "_Steve._" He was laughing too as he settled back into the water, taking her hand and sliding their fingers together. "I mean, don't get me wrong, I love the beard. Like, a lot. But I don't know what it was about that night. Something in me just felt different, I guess. But if we're talking about the first time that I really felt something, that was in D.C. When SHIELD fell."

"D.C.?" The hint of surprise in his voice was detectable.

She nodded. "I told you about the beach, how scared I was when I found you there. I meant what I said earlier—I didn't want to lose you. I realized_ how much _I didn't want to lose you, and that scared me too, so I just pushed it all away. I tried to ignore it, run from it. I tried putting that feeling into someone else."

"Bruce."

She pressed her lips together. "Yeah." Natasha squeezed Steve's hand. "I hit a low point again after SHIELD fell. I mean, SHIELD was my home, my family, everything I knew, and with it gone…I wasn't myself. Bruce was nice to talk to. And he was different, but also similar to me in certain ways. I liked him enough to try and make it work, even though I think there was a part of me the whole time that knew it wouldn't."

"You shouldn't discredit your feelings, though," Steve insisted gently. "I mean, you felt something there. That still means something. It still matters, even if ended up not working out."

Natasha didn't know what to say. No one had ever said something like that to her before, not in those words. Clint and Maria and Fury had told her similar things when she'd first joined SHIELD, that her training was something that had been instilled in her and that she was her own person with her own feelings. It had taken her a long time to trust those feelings. And it had been a long time since anyone had reminded her of it.

"Thank you for saying that," she murmured, holding Steve's stare. Their fingers were still intertwined beneath the water, and she gripped his hand a little tighter. "It means a lot."

"Of course." He rubbed his thumb across the side of hers. "You liked him, and you know, I, um…"

He trailed off, and then it hit her. She didn't know why it had taken her this long to realize it, or even think about it. But she thought about the cemetery in D.C., the slightly sour taste in her mouth when she'd pushed for Steve to ask Sharon out. Sharon was amazing and Natasha considered her a close friend, and at the time she had really wanted Steve to get out there. Steve seemed to like Sharon, so Natasha had given him a little nudge, despite her slight hesitation. That same feeling had been amplified when Steve had told her—months ago now—that he'd kissed Sharon.

Natasha had never even thought about Steve feeling the same way about her and Bruce. He'd always been so supportive of her after Bruce disappeared, had been by her side no matter what, and somehow he'd been able to hide his own feelings through all of that.

"Oh my god," she whispered. "You were jealous."

Steve swallowed, made a face that showed he knew he'd been caught. "Yeah. I, uh—yeah. I was."

"You never said anything."

He gave a little shrug. "I wouldn't do that to you. I didn't even realize _how _jealous I was until we'd all been working together for a couple weeks again. At first it was just weird because we'd been partners for so long, and having to work with everyone else meant I was working less with you, and that was an adjustment in itself. But then the feeling just got stronger once I realized how much time you and Bruce were spending together, and well…" a half smile to himself, before his blue eyes met hers, "It kind of sucked, but I never would've ruined what you had. Like I said, he meant something to you. More than anything, I just wanted you to be happy."

"Even if you weren't?" She asked. She didn't know why, but the question was out of her mouth before she could stop it.

Steve gave her a look that, if Natasha had been standing, her legs surely would've given out beneath her. Her heart fluttered in her chest at the soft smile he directed at her.

"Of course. Nat, I—can I make a confession?"

"Yeah, of course."

"After I woke up from the ice, how I felt…it was indescribable. You know better than anyone that I still struggle with it. The main thing that just kept going over and over in my head at the beginning was that I was never going to be happy—_truly happy_—ever again." His voice was quiet, but steady. His hand gripped hers a little harder beneath the slowly cooling bath water. She didn't know when, but they'd gravitated closer to each other in the tub.

Steve pushed on, "Despite the war, I used to believe in true love and having a family and a happy ending. Even after everything I saw, I believed I could push past that. I was in love with Peggy, and I could see myself marrying her someday. But I waited too long to tell her any of that." His voice cracked just so, and Natasha reached out a hand to touch his face. "And then I woke up, and the part of me that believed in all of that…that guy died when the plane went down. I just felt like this shell of a person after I woke up, and had no clue how to find a new normal."

"And then Fury assigned us to be partners." There it was—that look again. Natasha's breath caught in her throat. There was such deep fondness in his eyes that it bowled her over.

"You saved my life, Natasha. And I mean that. Those first weeks, I wasn't kidding when I said they were the best. You treated me like a person, while still acknowledging the fact that I was struggling with things, and I will never be able to thank you enough for that. You just did it in a way that was so _you_, and I…" he took a breath. "I'm not the same person I was before the war or before the ice, but you make me feel like I belong here in this time. You're my starting point for all of this, Nat."

Natasha felt a few tears slip down her cheeks. Her heart felt so full, like it could burst out her chest at any moment. She had been told over and over that love was a weakness, that she didn't deserve love or to be loved, but the man in front of her defied all of that. She swore she could see him hesitate on those words, she could see it in his eyes, how deeply his feelings ran for her. Not just romantic feelings, not just their attraction towards each other, but this bond that had defied both of their pasts and brought them together.

"When you and Bruce, I—I thought I'd waited too long to tell you how I felt," Steve said softly. "I _did _wait too long. But I told myself it didn't matter because you were happy, and that's what was really important to me. And if you were still with him now, I would have found a way to be happy with that. But by some miracle, you're here with me. And I'm so glad we're done waiting."

Natasha moved, not caring that the water got dangerously close to spilling over the side of the tub. A little maneuvering of their legs and she was in his lap, naked chests pressed together as she pulled him close. His hands were on her waist, lips parted just so as he looked at her.

Steve was right. She was done waiting.

"I love you," she whispered. And then she smiled. The confession bloomed out her chest, like the first flower of spring. The start of something new. His starting point—that's what Steve had called her. Well, this was their starting point. "I love you."

One of Steve's hands came up around her neck, pulled her in for a kiss. His mouth was searing against hers, gentle but desperate at the same time. "I love you," he murmured against her lips, and the words echoed back to her sent her heart fluttering anew. He kissed her again and again, until their breathing was ragged, before he pulled back just so, and said, "This isn't just because of the beard, right?"

Her face broke out into a wide smile, and through her laughter said, "Couldn't help yourself from ruining the moment, could you?"

Steve just matched her wide grin as she continued to laugh, before he ducked in to kiss her bare neck, hands tightening to press her body flush against his, as if they weren't close enough already.

He kissed down her neck and across her collarbone, pressing his lips in the hollow at the base of her throat, and pretty soon she was breathless again, heat beginning to pool at the base of her spine.

"You know," she said on an exhale, "if you're so focused on my apparent obsession with your beard, I can think of a few other places I'd like it to be."

Steve pulled back, blue eyes a shade darker. "Yeah?"

"Mm," she hummed, quirking an eyebrow at him. "Interested?"

She felt him harden beneath her, voice rough as he said, "Very much so."

After getting out of the tub they didn't even bother to dry off before Steve was carrying her into the bedroom to finish what they'd started. Natasha showed him exactly how and where she wanted him, the scratch of his beard between her thighs exactly as perfect as she'd imagined. Then, when they were moving together, Steve above her with her fingertips digging into his shoulders, the words _I love you _fell so effortlessly from her lips again that Natasha knew this was right where she belonged.

**-:-**

**The scene between Steve and Natasha in Brazil after he wakes up from his nightmare is probably my favorite scene in this whole fic. That and their first kiss, and Natasha and Wanda FaceTiming. I like when authors talk about their favorite scenes, so I thought I'd mention mine :)**

**More songs for these two:  
-You Are in Love by Taylor Swift. I know not everyone likes T.S. but, guys. This song. The line "One night he wakes, strange look on his face, Pauses, then says, you're my best friend" alone is enough to make my heart ache for these two. I've also ysed it for a fic title so.  
-This Love by Taylor Swift. Yeah another Taylor song. A little bittersweet but also totally them ok.  
-State of Grace (Acoustic Version) by Taylor Swift. Ok sorry, there's a lot of T.S. Just listen to the acoustic version of this song. It's so SOFT.  
-Treacherous by T.S. One last Taylor song, I promise! The line "Put your lips close to mine as long as they don't touch" is soooooo Steve and Natasha, I'm WEAK.  
-Your Love by Allman Brown. Beautiful Song.  
-I Will Follow You into the Dark (cover) by Jasmine Thompson  
-Power Over Me by Dermot Kennedy  
-I Miss You by Adele**

**So yeah, got a few more songs for you guys!**


	4. Chapter 4

**Posting the rest of this fic, because why not? (Actually it's totally because I'll be working a double tomorrow and won't have access to my computer until after midnight).**

**Anyway, that Post-IW thing I mentioned? Yeah, this is that part. Sorry for the angst. It's really Marvel's fault if we want to point fingers.**

**But this is the end! Technically, I did get this all posted before the official (U.S.) release date of Endgame, which is honestly an accomplishment lol. I literally meant this to be like a 10k little tag about some of my civil war feelings and here we are. Over 50k later, with so many more feelings than originally anticipated.**

**Thank you to my readers-you guys are seriously the best!**

**Enjoy!**

**P.S. Once again, please no Endgame spoilers. I'm bribing your silence by giving you two chapters in one night. Please, please, please no spoilers. Thanks!**

**-:-**

_1 Year Later_

[before]

Natasha woke to find the other side of the bed empty. Glancing over at the clock on the nightstand between the two beds of their hotel room, she saw that it was nearing midnight. She'd been asleep for a few hours, and Sam was still passed out in the opposite bed.

She touched the mattress next to her. It was cool enough to tell her that Steve had been out of bed for a while. She wasn't wholly surprised—they'd all been a little uneasy the past couple days. She couldn't say exactly why, but she figured it had something to do with how quiet it was.

No news out of the ordinary on their monitors, no signs of alien lifeforms or weapons. That and Vision had dropped off the radar two weeks ago. It wasn't like him; but Natasha knew he was with Wanda, so that didn't concern her as much. The rest of it though…

It was like the universe was collectively holding its breath.

For what, she didn't know, but she could feel it—the wrongness of all this quiet—deep in her bones, and she knew Steve could too.

She climbed out of bed, the shirt of Steve's she'd borrowed falling around her thighs, nearly covering the sleep shorts she had on. They'd been lucky enough to book a little bit bigger room this time around, with a half wall separating the beds from the small sitting area. She found Steve there, at the dark wooden desk by the window, overlooking a mostly quiet London street. He had their shared laptop in front of him, some notes scattered across the desk.

Natasha padded quietly up to him, ran a hand through his hair, which he'd grown out longer over the past six months, whereas she'd just recently re-dyed her own hair and chopped it short. She settled her other hand on his shoulder, and he silently reached up to cover her hand with his own.

"Anything new?" she asked quietly.

Steve shook his head. "No." His voice was gruff, tired, but when he tipped his head back to look at her, his gaze was tender.

She leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to his lips, relishing in the softness of his mouth against hers, the slight scratch from his beard. No matter what happened, they still had this. Them, together.

The hand she had tucked into the hair at the nape of his neck scratched against his scalp, pulling him in closer before she stepped back altogether, smiling down at him. Steve's eyes twinkled, but his own smile slowly vanished once he turned back to the computer in front of him.

He exhaled through his nose. "I hate this. The waiting," he said, squeezing her hand before he dropped it down to type something new into the search bar. "There's just this _feeling_, and I—"

He stopped and Natasha looked at the news site he'd pulled up. The same bad feeling she'd had for days suddenly grew infinitely worse, her gut twisting sharply.

"Oh my god," she breathed.

"Get Sam."

She nodded numbly, going into the other room to gently but firmly wake Sam up. When they came back, Steve had gotten up from the desk and was turning the TV on to low-volume. Natasha could only sit down on the small couch, Steve and Sam standing on either side, watching the news footage from earlier that day of an alien vessel over New York, overshadowed by the headline at the bottom that read:

_Tony Stark Missing_

"Shit," Sam murmured.

She found herself dragging her gaze towards Steve. His back was ramrod straight, the muscles in his shoulders visibly tight through the fabric of his tee. She watched him glance towards the bedroom, as if he could see right through the half wall and into his duffle, where the two year old burner phone was tucked away.

Natasha stood, grabbing the laptop from the desk before sitting back down on the couch. She opened up the tracking program they had set up to keep an eye on Vision as well as any alien activity. The icon for Vision was still dark.

Sam, seeing what she was doing, grabbed his phone. "I'm trying Wanda," he said, meeting her eyes.

Steve was still watching the news, switching between a few different channels. She could practically see the gears turning in his head, that brilliant tactical mind of his analyzing the entire situation and trying to figure out the best way to approach it.

"She's not answering," Sam announced quietly.

"Dammit, Wanda." She frowned, fingers flying over the keys as she tried to trace back and find the reading that the alien ship had given off.

"She's still not answering," Sam said, sitting down next to her. "Anything?"

She pressed her lips together and gave a little shake of her head. "I've got the reading the ship put out, but after New York it disappeared out of range. There's nothing yet across the map that matches it."

"We gonna move out?" Sam asked, the question directed at Steve, who still hadn't said a word.

It took a minute. Steve didn't turn, but finally said, "Yeah, let's get our stuff and—"

From the other room, a phone started ringing.

They all froze. For a minute, Natasha thought it might be hers—she'd left it on the nightstand—but, no. That wasn't her ringtone. Steve turned to look at them, and then he was moving. He disappeared behind the half wall, and a second later came back around, flipping the phone open and holding it up to his ear.

"Hello? H—"

There was a pause, and Steve's brows pulled together. Natasha was pretty sure she wasn't breathing.

"Banner?" Steve said, and Natasha felt the name like a punch to her gut. "Bruce, hang—hang on, slow down—just…"

Steve trailed off, listening, interjecting every once in a while.

Sam looked at her. "Bruce? I thought he was dead…"

She swallowed, shrugging a shoulder. They had all thought he was dead. The last she'd seen of him, he'd been Hulked out, flying a quinjet over the ruins of Sokovia. She'd tried to convince him to turn the plane around, but then he'd shut her out and they lost the connection in the sea.

She'd moved on from Bruce, but hearing his name again…she should have been relieved. She _was _relieved. But Tony was missing and Bruce was calling from Tony's burner phone, and that horrible feeling was still swirling around in her stomach, making the back of her throat itch. She blinked, trying to focus.

"Yeah—yes, thank you, Bruce. We'll be there as soon as we can," Steve said. A moment later he was flipping the phone shut. He stared at it a moment before looking at them. "So, Bruce is alive. He—it's a long story, but the point is that the guys on that ship are working for Thanos."

A chill slithered its way down her spine. Natasha didn't know the name, but the look on Steve's face told her it wasn't good.

"He's the one who sent Loki and that army to New York," Steve explained, voice low.

"Oh, god," she whispered. She wasn't actually entirely sure it was out loud.

"Bruce said these guys—Thanos—he's looking for these stones. Infinity Stones," Steve continued. "I guess the Tesseract had one, and there's a doctor—or a wizard, Bruce wasn't real clear—in New York—Strange, Stephen Strange, who has one as well. And…and now Tony and Strange are on that ship."

Natasha took a shaky breath.

"Not to be the bearer of more bad news," Sam said, "but you said this Thanos guy is looking for stones, right? Look, Stark and Strange being on that ship isn't great, but I think we have a more pressing issue at hand. Vision has one of those stones in his head."

"_Fuck_," Steve swore under his breath. "We gotta go—_now_."

They started moving. They all changed, yanking on clothes to go under their tactical gear, which Steve told hem they could change into once they were on their quinjet. Natasha and Steve started shoving things into bags as Sam wiped down any fingerprints and remnants of them being there. They left the room keys on the bed and then they were gone.

They were in the air before things got worse.

"Guys," Natasha said. The twisted feeling in her gut was only getting worse. "Come look at this."

Once they'd gotten on the jet, she'd pulled out the laptop again, monitoring for any sudden threats, but mostly just staring at Vision's dark icon like she could will it to turn back on.

"Vision?" Steve asked.

"Not exactly." She turned the laptop around so they could see. "The signature from that alien ship? It's back. Headed for Edinburgh."

"How long?" Steve asked, voice tight.

"Looks like we're ahead of them, but not by much. It'll be tight."

"Let's gear up, then," Steve said, looking between them. His eyes landed on her last. "And hope that it's enough."

-:-

[after]

Natasha's hands were shaking. They hadn't stopped shaking for hours. She didn't even know what time it was. All she knew is that she'd been counting people over and over and taking care of the wounded and trying not to cry for so long now that it didn't really matter what time it was. It was dark outside—had been for a while now.

She and the others that were left were staying in the Wakandan guest building that she and Steve had stayed in two years ago now. She was in the room that Steve originally had, having finally gotten a chance to sit down, because they'd all decided that nothing more could be done that night. She'd tried getting Steve to come with her, but he'd said there were a few things he needed to finalize before they headed back to New York in the morning to assess the damage there. Not having the strength to argue with him, Natasha had excused herself to their room. She was covered in dirt and blood and ash—_she was covered in ash. _

Natasha hadn't decided yet which was worse—dying, or being one of the people left. She was alive with no bodies to bury.

She squeezed her hands together, trying to get them to stop shaking. She knew she needed to shower, to change and try to feel normal for even just a minute, but she couldn't move. It wasn't just exhaustion. She was totally numb. She could still smell the fire and the stink of those alien dogs in her nose, could still see all the ash floating into the breeze and blanketing the ground.

She was spiraling down into her thoughts when the door quietly opened, and Steve stepped into the room. Natasha stood robotically, watching him as he silently shut the door behind him and took a few steps into the room.

"Steve," she whispered, not daring to go any higher because she knew her voice, and the fragile shell she'd cocooned herself in over the past hours, would break.

His head was bowed, and by the time he finally lifted his head to look at her, her chin was trembling, eyes burning with tears.

He took a step forward and she met him in the middle, falling into his arms as much as he collapsed into her. It was a miracle that her knees didn't give out, but she just held onto Steve as she buried her face into his shoulder and cried. The brave face she'd put on after the battle completely crumbled as she held onto Steve. His shoulders were shaking, too, his chest rattling against hers as she felt the wetness of his tears against her neck.

They'd lost.

They'd had defeats before, most of them minor. Some, like Sokovia, Natasha had never really considered a win because of all the destruction in their wake. But the Battle of New York, Sokovia, they'd still saved a hell of a lot more people than they'd lost.

But _this_.

This…she couldn't describe. She couldn't comprehend.

She tried saying his name again, tried to form a single sentence, but nothing came out. She couldn't stop seeing their friends' faces, crumbling into gray nothing. She couldn't stop seeing Vision's lifeless body, now laying on a table in Shuri's lab. Shuri…T'Challa…they were gone too. They were all gone. Another sob wracked her body.

"I don't know what to do, Nat," Steve mumbled against her neck. His voice sounded hollow, wrecked. "I just don't know."

The two of them, they'd always been able to put their minds together and come up with something. They worked brilliantly together, which is why they were partners. But now…Natasha didn't know if this was something they could fix.

She wanted to reassure him, wanted to say _something_. She wanted to tell him that she loved him, but she could barely muster the will to do that. They hadn't overused the phrase since first saying it to each other a year ago—they didn't need to. They both just _knew_. She knew Steve loved her and that he knew she loved him. They said it with glances across long rooms and fingers pressed into skin in the dark. They said it with midnight coffees and in the whispering of each other's names.

But now was different. He needed to hear it as much as she needed to say it.

"I love you," she said, voice barely audible. "Steve."

His body had stopped shaking for the moment. "I love you, too."

He held her for a few moments longer, before slowly pulling back. He kept his hands on her forearms, whether to steady her or steady himself, she didn't know.

His eyes scanned her face, and he looked like he was going to say something else. But she watched him take a shaky breath, before he said, "We should get cleaned up."

She just nodded in agreement.

His hand grazed her jaw, and only because she knew him so well did she notice the slight tremble in his fingers.

"I'm gonna go start the shower, okay?"

Natasha just nodded again. Steve let go of her slowly, and she hated the sudden emptiness of the space in front of her. And maybe he knew this, because he kept the bathroom door open so she could see him as he turned on the shower and then started to peel off the top half of his uniform.

She stripped out of her uniform too, going slowly when her body ached. She knew her ribs were bruised, only confirmed by the dark purple coloring forming across her torso. More bruises and scrapes covered her body, but luckily she hadn't suffered anything too serious. She met Steve in the bathroom, gave his naked body a once over. He was in a similar state to her—covered in bruises and scrapes, dirt and blood. His lip was split and still a little swollen. Her eyes dragged up to the left side of his head, where some dried blood was still crusted in his hairline.

She gently reached her fingers up and touched the spot, feeling for tenderness. "What happened here?"

Steve laid his hand over hers, brow furrowing slightly like he was trying to remember. "Thanos hit me. He—everything went black, but then I was fine. My head feels fine. I don't know, I can't explain it."

Natasha exhaled slowly. He was fine. That's what mattered.

"Come on," Steve urged gently.

They stepped into the shower together, standing under the stream of water, watching the muddy water swirl down the drain as the dirt and blood was rinsed from their skin. They showered in silence, taking turns helping each other wash. Slowly, so slowly, some of the tension released from her shoulders. The ache in her stomach, the hollowness in her chest refused to cease, but feeling clean again helped a little bit.

Once they were dried off, Steve pulled on clothes and told her he was going to go down to the kitchen and grab them a little food. Natasha's stomach grumbled at the thought. She didn't think she'd eaten since early that morning, and she hadn't realized how hungry she was.

"I'll be right back," Steve said. "Promise."

Natasha pulled her towel a little tighter around her body. "Okay."

He left quietly, and she turned to her duffel bag to grab something to sleep in. She pulled on fresh underwear and tugged a long sleeve black shirt of Steve's over her head. She was toweling her hair dry when she spotted her phone in her duffel. The towel fell from her hands. _Oh, god_. Her heart, as aching and broken as it already was, somehow managed to sink further.

With shaking fingers, she grabbed her phone and pulled up her contacts, landing on Clint's number. She'd been so distracted, so occupied by everything going on in Wakanda, all the people they'd already lost, that she hadn't even thought about everyone else.

She hit the call button and held the phone up to her ear, clenching her other hand into a fist. "Come on, Clint, pick up."

The phone continued to ring and ring and ring. It went to voicemail. She hung up and tried his number again. Still nothing. She was close to crying again. She tried Laura's cell, then she tried the landline for the farmhouse. Nothing. Silence.

She tried Clint one more time. "Please, Clint, please pick up." It went to voicemail again, and Natasha nearly sobbed. She swallowed, trying to keep her voice steady as she left him a message. "Clint, it's me. Please—please just call me back when you get this. I need to know that you're all right. I need to explain what happened, but please just call me back and let me know that you're okay."

Her hands were still shaking when she scrolled down further into her contacts and found Nick and Maria's numbers. She tried Maria first. Nothing. She tried Maria one more time, then tried Hill's second number, for extreme emergencies only. Everything went to voicemail. She left a message, hoping that her friend was just too occupied trying to help people to pick up the phone.

Then she went to Nick's number. Fear had its fist tight around her heart as she dialed and listened to the first few rings without Fury picking up. Tears had slipped down her cheeks at this point, but she barely felt them. All she could hear was the silence between rings as she waited, desperately, for Nick to pick up the phone. If anyone knew what to do, it would be him. He always knew what to do, always had a back up plan for his back up plans.

It went to voicemail. She didn't bother trying again. Nobody was picking up, and though she desperately wanted to believe that they were just busy, trying to make sense of what was going on like she was, deep down Natasha knew they were gone, too. Nothing but ash.

When Steve came back and saw her face, he immediately put down the tray of food he was carrying and came over to her, gently gripping her arm with one hand as he reached up to brush away her tears with the other.

"I tried calling Clint," she said, voice thick with tears. "He didn't pick up. I tried Maria and Nick—nothing. Steve—"

"I know, I know," he soothed, pulling her into his arms again. He rested his chin on top of her head, cradling the back of her head. "I tried calling Tony earlier. I know he was on that alien ship, but I had to try."

She pulled back to look at him. "Anything?"

Steve shook his head.

"I should call Pepper. You haven't heard anything from her, have you?"

He gave a little shake of his head again. "Nothing. I can call her if you want, you don't have to."

"No, I can do it," she said, grabbing her phone again.

It took a few rings, and Natasha was sure she was going to get the same result as before, but then, by some miracle, the other line picked up.

"Natasha? Are you okay? Do you know what's happening? I just—Happy and I—"

Natasha found herself surprisingly calm as she talked to Pepper, trying her best to explain what had happened. Pepper took it reasonably well. She knew her friend was upset—grieving like all of them—but Pepper had always been incredibly strong.

She promised Pepper that they'd see her tomorrow, before hanging up, releasing a breath. She set her phone back in her bag, and Steve took her hand.

He gave her a tiny, tentative smile. "She's alive. That's good."

"Yeah," she replied.

"And we'll track Nick's phone, see if we can find him when we go back to the States."

"Yeah," she said again.

She could tell Steve didn't know what else to say. She didn't know what to say either. Pepper was alive, which was great. But there were so many of their friends that were gone.

They sat on the mattress then, eating quietly. When they were done, they settled into bed, pulling the covers over them. Steve pulled her into his arms, cocooning her in his warmth. She didn't want to close her eyes. She didn't want to sleep for fear that she would wake up and more people would be gone.

But before she knew it, with Steve's steady heartbeat against her ear, Natasha was asleep.

-:-

Steve lay awake for a while after Natasha fell asleep. He'd tried shutting his eyes, wishing he could fall asleep as quickly as she did, but he kept seeing the faces of their friends, vanishing into nothing. Kept seeing that headline over and over: _Tony Stark Missing. _It was like waking up from the ice all over again. Everyone he knew and loved, just _gone_. Except that had felt more like a dream, something he was bound to wake up from eventually. This—this was a nightmare. He couldn't sleep this one off. He was wide awake, and there was nothing he could do to stop it.

He looked down at Natasha's sleeping face. At least she was here with him. If she had disappeared, too…Steve didn't know what he would've done. Bucky was gone, Sam was gone. T'Challa and Wanda, and now probably Fury and Hill. Tony was probably gone, too. So many people he trusted, confided in, they were dead. But thankfully, Natasha, his partner, his friend, the woman he loved, she was still here with him. And though he was grateful, a small part of him wished she didn't have to live through this. She had enough nightmares to last her a lifetime, and this was just another one to add to the list.

He wanted advice. He'd turned several times earlier that day, after the battle, to talk to Sam, ask him for advice, before remembering that his friend wasn't there. It had hit Steve like a punch to the gut every time. And Bucky…he'd failed Bucky again. His best friend had been getting better, able to live in peace and quiet for the first time in seventy years in the Wakandan countryside. And Steve had brought the fight right back to Bucky.

Steve kept an arm around Natasha, staring out the bedroom window, trying to keep from crying again.

He was overwhelmed. He was supposed to be a leader, supposed to inspire strength and tell people where to go next. But they'd lost, and he had no idea what to do.

Eventually, after images of ash and the ice and trains and a funeral in London all muddied together into one, Steve finally fell asleep.

-:-

Natasha opened her eyes when the first light of dawn came creeping in through the windows. The edges of the sky were beginning to turn pink. The beginnings of a stunning Wakandan sunrise. She almost wished the sky was gray. It would've been more fitting.

Still feeling tired, but not quite as exhausted, she rolled over—and immediately sat up when she saw the other side of the bed was empty. She patted the sheets, and they were cold. Panic seized her throat, making it difficult to breathe. There was no ash, no sign that he'd disappeared like the others, but that didn't mean anything. The bathroom lights weren't on, he wasn't in the room, he was just _gone_.

"_Steve._" She threw her legs over the side of the bed and stood. "Steve!"

Her heart was pounding, almost painfully against her chest. They didn't know the timeline for the effects of the snap. People could still be disappearing for all they knew. But Steve—she couldn't take it if he was gone. She wouldn't be able to do this—_survive_—without him.

"Steve! Steve, wh—" she stopped short when she opened the door to the hallway, and he half stumbled into her.

"Nat, I—"

She didn't let him finish before she was throwing her arms around him. His arms wrapped around her automatically, and she felt wetness on her cheeks again. She wondered if the tears would ever stop. She felt like she could cry forever and it still wouldn't be enough. Nothing could fill this hole, nothing could ease the panic she'd felt yesterday and just now.

"Don't do that to me ever again," she mumbled against his neck. "Don't—don't just _disappear _like that. I thought—I thought you were—"

"I'm sorry," he murmured, rubbing soothing circles across her back. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to scare you like that."

She leaned back before crushing her mouth to his. There was the slight taste of salt on her lips. She wrapped her arms around his neck, threaded her fingers through his hair as he kissed her back, desperation in the way his lips parted against her own, teeth grazing her bottom lip. When they pulled apart, they were both a little breathless. But that touch, they both needed that. the warmth, the reassurance that the other was real, and wouldn't disappear.

"I'm sorry," Steve whispered again, touching his forehead to hers as they stood in the doorway. "I couldn't sleep. I just wanted to take a little walk. I should've left a note."

"It's okay," she said, gripping his upper arms. "I just…I can't lose you, Steve. Not you, too."

"I know. I can't lose you either. I don't know what I'd do. Nat, you…I can't do this without you."

She just continued to hold him close, continued to breathe him in. She knew exactly how he felt.

-:-

Later that morning they were boarding the quinjet. They'd said their goodbyes to Queen Ramonda and Okoye, promising to keep in touch and let the two women know if they found any solutions. Rhodey and Bruce were silent as they buckled into the back of the quinjet.

Natasha finished buckling into the copilot's seat and looked over at Steve, readying the jet for takeoff. He turned his head and met her eyes.

"You ready?" she asked him.

"As ready as I can be."

"We're gonna figure this out, Steve," she whispered. She didn't know if she fully believed that yet, but she had to try. She _was _trying. She had no clue how they were going to fix it, but they couldn't let Thanos win. Not like this. "You and me. _Together_."

He was quiet for a moment, and then he offered her the tiniest quirk of his lips as he reached over and gripped her hand in his. "Together."

**-:-**

**If you want to chat about anything, I'm on tumblr! You can send me asks, but I'm very bad at checking them because I'm usually on tumblr mobile. Why? I dunno, honestly. Guess i just like scrolling on a little screen with my thumb instead. But i do use the messaging function, so feel free to shoot me a message there!**

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